Elite: Trailblazers
by Mo1eculeMan
Summary: The 34th century. The true Space Age. Faster than light travel was discovered long ago, and now pilots across the Bubble of civilized space have become traders, miners, bounty hunters, and pirates in their own space ships. This is the story of a young man, Nathan Wolfe, and his adventures through space.
1. Chapter 1 - New Beginnings

Hi, all! Welcome to Elite: Trailblazers! Before you start reading, here are a few things to know (I'll add to this list as I go):

-At the end of each chapter, I'll put definitions and brief overviews of some things introduced in that chapter, so those of you less familiar with Elite: Dangerous can stay up to speed.

-I have an ever-growing collection of oneshots that you can find by clicking on my profile. I'll update it sporadically, so make sure you check on it from time to time!

* * *

Chapter 1 - New Beginnings

It was a day like any other. Activity at Lave Station never really ceased, with goods being hauled in and out constantly. Ads for every kind of product and company were plastered throughout the station, from Remlok life support systems to the latest deals on Lavian Brandy. Station Services were always active for when pilots flew in. Ground crew, ship outfitters, and vendors at the Commodities Market were always on site. Business never sleeps, after all.

It was a very special day, however, for one young man. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties, with messy black hair and chocolate brown eyes. He stood in a small hangar, looking out at a Sidewinder, apparently no different from any other one. To him, though, it was the most precious thing in the world. To him, it was freedom. To him, it was independence. This was his first ship. He took a deep breath, let it out, and started walking across the hangar to the ship's door.

* * *

CMDR's Log - Day 1

Credits: 1,000

Ship: Sidewinder Mk I

My name is Nathan Wolfe. Ever since I was little, I'd dreamt about flying through the cosmos. My own ship, my own path. My own trail for me to blaze.

I don't know what it is. My craving for adventure seemed to come out of nowhere. Well, alright, not nowhere, per se. It has to have come from my dad. He was a pilot, all those years ago. A good man, he was. He took a job up at Lave Station, shipping goods like the brandy this station's so famous for across the galaxy in a Type-6 owned by the shipping company. He'd come home after a long week of work, collapse on the couch, and talk with me about his adventures: the places he'd seen, the people he'd met, the close shaves he'd had. And believe me, he'd had some close calls. Brandy and gold don't exactly come cheap, and not everyone's rich enough or honest enough to buy them. Type-6 Transporters aren't built for fighting, either. And yes, I write all the stuff about Dad in the past tense.

Three years ago, Dad went out on a long-distance trip and didn't come back.

It wasn't a run out of the ordinary. Lavian Brandy tends to sell for the highest price a certain distance away from the system - close enough that someone could ship it in a reasonable amount of time and close enough that people have heard about it and want to buy it, and far enough away that the labor involved warrants a higher price. He'd made the trip countless times before; it earned us enough money to live off of and leave some leftover. After one trip, though, he didn't come back when he was meant to. No big deal, station delays could have held him up for a bit.

Two days passed. Then three. They sent a search team to the last point he'd radioed in. They combed the entire system and everywhere around it. Nothing. No Type-6 wreckage, no escape pod, none of the cargo he was hauling. Nothing. He was presumed dead after two weeks of searching.

The life insurance money and what he left behind kept me going. It paid for the rest of my education, the house, food, everything I needed. When I turned 18, it paid for something else: Pilot Training.

The Pilot's Federation accepts applications for training for people starting at age 18. Not just anyone gets in, either. They train you on how to operate a ship, how to navigate, and, of course, how to fly. For that, they use a modified version of CQC. Close Quarters Combat is usually a game where you pilot a virtual ship and attempt to complete objectives - get the most kills, capture the enemy team's flag, and so on. This version, however, is a bit different. CQC has players use a regular keyboard and mouse or a video game controller, or an immersive reality set if the player can afford it. The simulations take place in immersive reality, able to perfectly emulate real life to a T. They say if you didn't know it was a sim, you'd mistake it for real life. Of course, it hasn't quite been able to replicate the human psyche, but in a solo cockpit that's no issue. Even with multicrew ships they just have you train with other initiates. The simulation teaches initiates about the cockpit firsthand, with all the buttons and switches that you have to memorize. Basic controls, docking, navigation, and all the different elements are taught through a simulation. Still, though, they teach combat. No matter what you do in this galaxy, you'll need to know how to fight. Every system that has people has goods shipped in and out, and where there's loot, there's someone there to take it. A few wrong words could put a price on your head.

Pilots have a plethora of occupations to choose from once they're out of training. Mining, shipping, trading, and exploring are the more benign jobs. Those with more skill in combat and more craving for action take jobs as bounty hunters, thieves, and assassins. Personally, I've never seen much allure in exploring. You'd spend weeks, even months by yourself somewhere off in the void; scan stars and planets, jump to the next system, refuel from a star, rinse and repeat. Mining and trading are repetitive, though hauling goods for a system's factions can be rewarding if they like you enough. Hunting, now that's interesting.

I might not be able to do it for a while, though. The standard-issue Sidewinder isn't exactly something to be feared in a fight, and it's a tiny thing. With a shield generator and a docking computer fitted, it can only about four tons of cargo. Until I can afford something that can hold its own in a fight, or something that can make me a profit trading, I'll be couriering data between stations to get some extra cash.

Let's see what they have to offer.

* * *

CMDR's Log - Day 9

Credits: 283,982

Ship: Adder

I never imagined hauling could be so boring. Take this stuff, bring it to this station, come back if you want. How did Dad put up with this? Constantly. Granted, it is making me some dough. I managed to scrape enough credits to buy myself an Adder, which is proving much more useful than the Sidewinder. With shields fitted, I can fit about 16 tons of cargo versus the Sidewinder's 4. I've landed at stations enough that I don't need a Docking Computer anymore, so that gives me some extra room for more cargo.

My routine is simple enough. As for now, I prefer to be based in the Lave system, because it's my home and it isn't a bad place for independent pilots these days. The security's pretty high, so I haven't had to worry about any bandits (so far). That alone is a stroke of luck; Adders don't do well in fights.

I've done a bit of work for the local factions, so they like me well enough that they give me some well-paying shipping missions to some local systems. They pay much better than if I bought the goods myself and sold them independently, but they're a little inconsistent. If nobody has any missions for me to take, I have to wait around in the station until more show up. Not the most exciting of lifestyles, but it works.

I've got something to look forward to, though. After a few more missions I'll be able to buy a Cobra Mk III; one of the best multipurpose ships on the market, when you consider its price. Once I get that, I'll be having a lot more fun.

"Woohoo! This is so much better than an Adder!" Nate yelled as he boosted out of the station's airlock in his new Cobra Mk III for the first time. The Mk III's top flying speed of 328 metres/second beat out the Adder's boost speed of 321 m/s, and the Cobra's boost speed of 408 m/s was among the highest of all ships without special modifications. After flying around aimlessly for a while, testing the limits of his new ship, Nate pondered what he was going to do first. This was the first time he could actually go wherever he wanted, not restricted by short jump ranges or the serious need to make more money. The Cobra Mk III was a solid ship with loads of uses, so for the time being he didn't need to focus much on upgrading to a better ship.

An idea struck him. Space was pretty lonely. He opened his contacts list and searched it until he found the name he was looking for. He called the number. It rang for a while, but eventually, someone picked up.

"Hey, Steven?" Nate asked tentatively. It had been years since he last spoke with his friend, and he was half expecting to never hear from him again.

"Nate? Nate, it that you?" The voice on the other end was partially drowned out by loud mechanical noises.

"Yeah, it's me. Long time, eh?" He might have sounded calm, but in his Nate silently fist-pumped in celebration. A grin plastered his face from ear to ear.

"Man, it's been forever. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Well, I'm currently flying around Lave Station in my very own ship," Nate said proudly.

"Ah, the day's finally come. Tell, you what, I'll send you some coordinates to a planet in a system a few jumps over. There's something I wanna show you," Steven said. "Bring an SRV. Oh! And some of that Lavian Brandy," he added. "This calls for celebration!"

"You got it. I'll see you in a few." Nate hit a button on the keyboard to his left, ending the voice call. As he did so, he got a message from Steven, containing planetary coordinates as promised. He docked at the station with ease in his Cobra and went to the Outfitting shop to buy an SRV hangar and a Scarab. Once those were fitted, he went over to the Commodities Market he knew all too well. Lave Station was the only place in the galaxy you could buy Lavian Brandy, and so the businesses that sold it were always blooming. Lave was an agriculturally based system, and as such most of the food that was grown on Planet Lave was exported here, at the system's busiest station. The air was always filled with the scents of fresh food, from pastries to herbs to freshly cooked meat.

Nate pushed through the crowd towards a stall run by one of the businesses he had shipped goods for. Usually someone would have to wait for hours on end just to buy a bottle of brandy from a stall, but Nate's history of trading at the station provided him backdoor access. Pushing to the front of the line (enduring much complaining from the other people in it), he asked to see the manager of the stall. After a short wait he came out of a back room, his face lighting up when he saw Nate.

"Ah, Nate! Happy to see ya, bud! What can I get ya today?" he asked.

"Could I get a bottle of brandy please?" He thought for a moment. "Make it two!" The manager reached below the counter and grabbed two bottles of the amber liquid, placing them on the counter. He paid the man and grabbed the bottles, heading back towards the hangar.

* * *

A/N: Alrighty, here it is. I hope my writing was well-structured enough and not altogether awful. Stay tuned for Chapter 2! Know that I am taking ideas for future updates, so ask away!

~M

Terms Used This Entry:

Sidewinder: The Sidewinder Mk I, more commonly referred to as the Sidewinder, is the stock ship given to new pilots by the Pilots Federation. It is an adequate multipurpose ship for pilots without funding to buy a better one.

Adder: The Adder is another cheap multipurpose ship, and is often the next ship a Sidewinder pilot buys. It has much more cargo space and a higher jump range than a Sidewinder, which means it serves as a much better trading ship.

Cobra Mk III: The Cobra Mk III is a fantastic multi-use ship, capable of taking on just about any role. One of the fastest ships on the market, a Cobra outfitted the right way can take down much larger vessels. It also has a good jump range and decent cargo capacity for its size, making it a good stepping stone for traders. Of course, those wanting to take a less a legal route make use of its low heat signature, plenty of internal slots, and capacity for loot as a pirate or smuggler.

Lave Station: A Coriolis Station found in the Lave system. The only starport that sells galaxy-famous Lavian Brandy, it is a very popular spot for traders.


	2. Chapter 2 - An Old Friend

Chapter 2 - An Old Friend

Nate flew out of the mail slot of Lave Station for what seemed like the millionth time. He looked over to his Galaxy Map and input the coordinates that Steven had sent him after their chat. They marked out a specific point on a rocky planet a few systems away. Nate frowned to himself for a second; there were no known bases at that location.

He decided Steven was a better person than to trick him, and continued planning out the route. Angling his ship towards the first star on the course, he hit the button that engaged the Frame Shift Drive. After a few seconds of charging, the countdown timer started.

4...

3...

2...

1...

Engage.

Nate was pushed back in his pilot's seat. Frame Shift technology had been streamlined since its invention, the engagement always had a good kick to it. After about half a second, the force abated, replaced by a steady vibration that ran throughout the entire ship. The consoles in the cockpit went offline as the Cobra accelerated to faster than light itself. At those speeds, a ship could travel entire light years in less than a minute. A journey that hundreds of years ago would've taken decades or centuries was now shorter than a trip to the bathroom. With one final lurch, Nate's ship exited hyperspace into supercruise in front of the system's main star. He angled the Cobra towards the next system, traveling now at about twice the speed of light. Thus was the life of a pilot.

A few jumps later, Nate ended up in the system Steven had marked out for him. He found the planet he'd been told to land on: a metal-rich planet about 600 light seconds from the star. He dropped into the exclusion zone of the planet a few minutes later. Now out of supercruise, he engaged glide mode and flew down towards the surface at a controlled 2,500 metres per second. The ship disengaged glide once it got even closer, and Nate once again assumed full control of his Cobra. He checked the coordinates once more and saw where he was meant to go: the edge of a massive crater several kilometers in diameter. He skillfully descended towards the planet's surface and found terrain flat enough to land on. Once the landing procedure had finished, he hit a few buttons to deploy his SRV Scarab, and himself along with it.

Now on the ground below his Cobra, he drove his Scarab out towards the rim of the crater. The Surface Reconnaissance Vehicle was speedy and maneuverable, able to achieve a top speed of about 20 metres per second as well as jump into the air. On this planet, where the gravitational force was about 0.8g, the Scarab could jump about 10 metres into the air. The vehicle's state-of-the-art suspension allowed it to traverse even the roughest terrain without complication.

Nate drove to the exact position given by the coordinates, a spot near the edge of the crater. When nothing happened, he sent out a local broadcast to the area: "Hello? Anybody here?"

Suddenly, with a rumble, the wall of the crater in front of him began to lean backwards and give way - a hidden door! Inside was an airlock. Pressure-resistant glass in the interior airlock door revealed what was beyond it: a massive workshop of sorts, encompassing the space of a large warehouse. After the hidden doors had closed behind him and the airlock has cycled, he parked his SRV along the wall next to a collection of others. Nate hopped out of his SRV and took off his helmet, shaking his messy black hair out of his eyes. The helmet he wore ruined any attempts to make it neat. He looked around and saw worktables, storage containers, and countless different machines across the workshop, each with its own unique purpose. Some people sat at desks analyzing computer data. Others stood at forges, hammering away at sheets of metal. Still others sat at workbenches, tinkering with complicated looking mechanisms.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is!" A voice called out from Nate's right.

Turning in the direction the voice came from, he saw a familiar man approaching him from a workbench. "Steven?" Nate called back, walking towards the man. "Steven Summers, is that you?"

"It's me, buddy! Look at you. You've grown!"

The two men reached each other and pulled each other into an embrace. Steven was a good four inches taller than Nate, and had messy brown hair that reached his shoulders. His arms and chest were visibly muscular, no doubt the product of years in this workshop.

Nate marveled at him. "I've grown? Look at you! You're ripped!" When he had last seen his friend, he was nothing to look at. He wasn't stick skinny, but he didn't have much meat on his bones, either. Thinking about their years at Pilot Training brought back a flood of memories.

The two had been good friends for the years they spent together at the Academy. Steven was a few years his senior, so he'd graduated a couple of years before Nate did. He wasn't an awful pilot, Nate recalled, though he did remember another thing: Steven was a tinkerer. He spent whatever spare time he had in the metal shop, always coming up with new gadgets or tinkering with things he found, fixing them or making them better. After Steven graduated, they had lost contact. Training didn't leave much time for social lives, so for the next couple of years, Nate had been fully focused on graduating.

"I'll be honest with you, man, I wasn't really sure what to expect when you called me over here. I mean, come on. 'Hey, come to this nondescript location in the middle of nowhere! I wanna show you something!' If I didn't know you better, I'd probably be more well-armed than I am now. And expecting an ambush," he added as an afterthought.

"Well, it's a good thing you know me then, isn't it?" Steven said with a wink. Nate rolled his eyes before looking around at the vast workshop.

"What... what is all of this, Stevie?" Nate asked, waving around him.

"Nate, buddy... this is mine." He gestured around them, his pride evident.

"Wait... what? Yours?" Nate almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Nate, do you know what I did once I left the Academy?" He beamed at him.

"Not one clue," replied Nate. "How... how could all of this," he said, waving his arm at the workshop, "be yours?"

Steven laughed heartily. "Walk with me, Nate. We've got a lot of catching up to do," he laughed. He began walking towards one of the hallways that branched off the room. Nate followed, still in awe at the massive area around him. As they reached the doorway, Steven's earpiece rang.

"Go ahead," he said. A hologram flared to life around his head, filled with diagrams and blueprints, as well as a voice call.

A woman's voice sounded from the earpiece's speaker, loud enough for Nate to hear. "It's done. Fitted and ready for testing, when you're ready."

"Good. Get to the surface, I'll be at the observatory in a minute." He closed the call and the holo-headset winked out of existence. "This is what I wanted to show you, Nate. Follow me. I'll catch you up on the past few years."

"Alrighty then," Nate replied, following his friend down the corridor. "So. The compound."

"The compound," his friend agreed. "Well, Nate, after I graduated, I didn't really know what I was going to do with myself. I earned myself some credits and bought myself a decent ship, but I really didn't know where to go from there. I'm not a good enough pilot to be a fighter, trading and mining bore me, and exploration's lonely. 'What do I do best?' I asked myself."

"You tinker," Nate replied automatically.

"I tinker," Steven said, smiling. "So where can I get myself a place where I can tinker? I look around for a while and I found this planet. It was perfect! Rich in metals, loads of wide open spaces. I worked up the money and went to the controlling faction. I purchased a small plot of land at the edge of the crater and dug it out. I converted it into the workshop you saw back there, as well as my living space. And so, the Weyland was born."

Nate frowned. "The Weyland?"

"Mythological figure from ancient Earth, a legendary craftsman," Steven explained.

They turned a corner. "Ah, makes sense. Please, continue." Nate was enthralled by the story of his friend's success, was hanging on to Steven's every word. Steven was all too happy to tell it.

"By myself, I started earning money doing what I loved. I got materials up at the station: old, broken, discarded modules, and some scrap from the Market. I took 'em back here and I fixed 'em up. Sold them up at the station to make a profit. After that, I started to experiment."

"Experiment?"

"Yep. I took the new modules and I messed around with them. A lot of the time I could actually make them better than they were before."

"How so?" Nate asked. Most modules came in five variants per class, rated from E to A. "E" class modules were the lowest rated variant, but also the cheapest. "A" class modules were the highest rated variant, but were far more expensive. They were all standardized and regulated: all 2B power plants were the same, all 3C multi-cannons were identical. It never occurred to Nate that they could be modified; if you needed a module to be better, buy a better one, he thought.

"Depends on what I worked on. Ever so slightly faster drives, power plants that put out just a bit more juice, chaffs that lasted a few seconds longer. When I sold those back to the station, I made a huge profit! You wouldn't believe how much people would pay for that extra edge. I took that money and I expanded further. I bought more land around the workshop and expanded my business. I installed living quarters, a cafeteria, a lounge: I could hire employees now. I started them off improving the modules the same way I did, using blueprints I made for myself. The business grew and expanded. Once it was large enough, I branched out again. I decided to add my own... flair to things."

"I think I know where this is going," Nate said, grinning.

"I'm sure you do. I took a look at a module, and I ask myself, 'What could make this better?' Well, there's not much you can do to thrusters besides making 'em faster. There's not much you can do with limpets besides make making them last longer or giving them more range. But weapons, that's where the fun begins. Here, let me show you firsthand." They had reached an elevator. They climbed in and began ascending. Soon, they reached their floor.

"Woah," was all Nate could say. They had emerged into a huge glass dome that provided a stunning view of the landscape around them. The room was full of computers and analysis equipment for monitoring something. The people in the room seemed to be awaiting something. It suddenly occurred to Nate that they were all looking at the two of them.

"Alrighty people, let's get this show on the road!" Steven called out before turning to Nate. "You might want to take a spot at the window. I want you to have the best seat in the house for this."

"And what exactly is this?" Nate asked. A look at the screens showed that they were monitoring a single ship: an Imperial Eagle. Some of the screens showed displays of what liked to be a multi-cannon. Something on the surface caught his eye, though. In the distance, a huge pile of scrap lay on the surface. "What's all that scrap for?"

"Just a target," Steven replied, a sly grin on his face.

"A target? For what?" Nate wondered out loud. At the same time, one of the employees called out, "All systems ready, Mr. Summers! Will begin on your mark!"

"Roger that!" he called back. "In three, two, one… go!"

As Nate watched outside, the Eagle went zooming past, rapidly approaching the scrap pile. Nate's eyes were as sharp as a razor, and even though the Eagle had to be going at least 300 m/s, he caught sight of a class 2 multi-cannon, capable of firing 7.5 rounds per second with a muzzle velocity of 1,000 m/s. Class 2 multi-cannons were about three metres long, and shot 120mm bullets. He looked over to a display that showed the ship's distance to the pile: 1,800 metres, 1,500 metres, 1,200 metres. At about 1,000 metres, the multi-cannon started firing its rounds. Sparks flew as they made contact with the scrap metal, and seconds later the Eagle zoomed past the pile of scrap. Nate wondered what good firing bullets at a mound of metal would do, when out of nowhere the scrap exploded in a massive fireball. Nate took a step back in surprise, turning to Steven, who beamed at him from the center of the room.

"Care to explain?" Nate called.

"Explosive rounds," Steven explained, walking over to him. "A small explosive device implanted in each bullet detonates a few seconds after impact. Wreaks havoc on any ship's subsystems, and the hull itself." He started back towards the elevator and gestured for Nate to follow him. Once more below the surface, Steven had begun to navigate them back through the winding corridors when his earpiece rang again. "Yeah?" he said. Once more, the holograms flared to life around his head.

"Mr. Summers, you're needed in Hangar 3." The voice sounded urgent.

"What's this about?" Steven said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"It's about the Beta Base." At this, Steven's eyes widened in surprise.

"I'll be there in a minute." The holograms winked out. Steven looked at Nate. "Follow me." Steven took off, sprinting down the halls, turning this way and that. Nate was close on his heels. For another minute, the ran full-pelt until they reached a set of doors. Pushing them open, they came out into a ship hangar, currently occupied by a banged-up looking Viper Mk III. The hull plating was dented and torn in places, and the canopy looked like it had completely shattered. Doubling over as he caught his breath, Nate caught sight of a group of people gathered the the ship's access ramp, where people boarded and left the ship. He and Steven staggered over to them, trying to see what they were all clustered around. To their surprise, it was a person. He looked be in his mid-thirties, with a pale face, short brown hair, and a five o'clock shadow. He wore a pilot's suit, his helmet lying discarded next to him. His side was bleeding badly, the result of a bullet wound. That and the terribly damaged ship above him painted a clear picture: the Viper's canopy had been shot out, and with nothing to protect him, he had been shot. He was lucky, though. The bullet had been small, shot out of a class one multi-cannon. Anything larger would have killed him before he could make it back to the hangar.

"What the hell?" was Steven's response. He ran over and knelt beside the man, who was only semi-conscious. "Jim, what happened?" Steven shook him gently in an attempt to keep him awake. He turned to look at the others in the crowd. "Paramedics?"

"Already on their way," one replied.

Jim stirred. "Uhhhhhh…" he moaned, his eyes fluttering open. He turned his head slightly to look at Steven and squinted. "Helmet..." he groaned. He raised an arm to point at the discarded headpiece next to him. At that moment, his senses returned to him, he became aware of the pain flaring in his side, and clutched it in agony. Two of Steven's onsite paramedics rushed into the hangar, carrying a stretcher between them. They placed it next to him, and on of the paramedics pulled out a needle of anesthetic from his bag, injecting it near Jim's wound to ease the pain. His face relaxed. The paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher and headed for the door to the infirmary.

Steven's frown didn't leave his face, however. He picked up Jim's helmet, which was discarded when he stumbled down the exit ramp. He turned it over a few times, as if looking for something. Nate watched in confusion.

"What're you looking for?" Nate asked.

"A button," Steven replied simply. As he said it, he found what he was looking for: a concealed button on the side of the helmet. He pressed it and a panel slid open to reveal a small data chip. He pressed a button on his earpiece and the holograms flickered on again. "Analyze," Steven said, holding the data chip in front of him.

The earpiece scanned the chip for a few seconds, and then even more documents and files flared to life on Steven's display. He skimmed them briefly before turning off his earpiece. "Well," he said, turning to Nate. "Shit." His expression was grim.

Nate was still trying to process all that had happened in the past few minutes. "What was all that about?"

"I'm building a new base a few systems away, to help expand the business. Like this one, I can't have its location given away. Too many dangerous people want to get ahold of my blueprints, and they'd kill to get them. Jim proved that," he said, pointing over his shoulder towards the door the paramedics had just gone through. "Jim was one of my intelligence scouts. His job was to watch over the site and make sure nobody found out about it. Obviously, someone did, and they opened fire when Jim went after them."

"So what're you gonna do then?" Nate asked. "You need to go after him, don't you?"

Steven nodded. "Yes. Yes we do."

"Hold on a minute." Nate had caught the wording of that statement. "We?"

"Oh, and by the way, I took the liberty of docking your ship." Nate noticed the deliberate change in topic but decided not to press him on it. "Your SRV's already back in it," Steven continued, "and I added some, how do you put it… extra surprises." They both grinned at that. Experience dictated that Steven's "surprises" tended to be rather… destructive.

They pushed the doors open and emerged into another hangar - this one housing an Imperial Eagle. Nate noticed it was the same Eagle from the test run on the surface. The multi-cannon mounted atop the ship was being detached, and the Eagle's pilot was walking down the exit ramp. The pilot was slender and about as tall as Steven, but Nate couldn't see his face through his helmet.

Steven started towards the pilot. "C'mon. I'll introduce you two."

Puzzled, Nate followed. Steven had just found out his entire business - and his own well-being - were at risk, and he was introducing Nate to his staff?

"Why are we meeting people instead of dealing with, you know, your impending doom?"

Steven merely flashed him one of the sly smiles Nate was becoming accustomed to as they approached the pilot. "Nate, this is one of my test pilots. They're all crazy, but we keep them around anyway."

Nate tried not to sigh as the pilot unfastened his helmet. "Don't 'test pilot' and 'crazy' mean the same thing?"

Steven shrugged. "There are different kinds of crazy."

"And you, sir, are all of them." They both laughed at that. By now, they had reached the Eagle's exit ramp and the pilot standing next to it, who had begun to take off his helmet.

Nate turned to meet the man Steven was so keen to introduce him to. This guy had to be especially good for Steven to want them to meet while both his business and his life were in danger. Nate held out his hand in greeting, and, taking off her helmet, the pilot shook it.

Her helmet?

Nate could barely suppress his surprise as he saw the pilot's face for the first time. Without her helmet on, her curly honey blonde hair fell to her shoulders. A huge grin plastered her face, and her sky blue eyes were alight with excitement and energy still fresh from the test run. Nate realized he was staring, and that he hadn't let go of her hand yet. He mumbled something intelligent, like, "Uhh, hi." He pulled his hand back just a tad bit too quickly, mentally scolding himself for being awkward. Immediately following this was confusion: he was usually pretty good in social situations like this. Trading always involved plenty of social interaction; meeting new people was part of the job. And yet, this one woman had managed to leave him speechless. He tacked this up to the fact that she was, well, a she.

Nate hadn't really seen any female trainees during his time at the Academy. Education there wasn't exactly a social event, but as far as he was aware there were no female pilots in his year. There weren't exactly "work friends" in his line of work, either. As an independent pilot, Nate wasn't bound to any one company, so he simply took spare jobs from whichever company would pay the highest - the interstellar equivalent of a freelancer.

Yes. That was definitely why she had left him speechless. He just wasn't used to it, that was all.

She giggled slightly at his reaction. Steven had been watching the whole exchange with his trademark grin. "Nate, this is Krystal, one of my best test pilots. Krystal, this is Nate, a good friend of mine. Don't worry," he added with a wink. "He's usually more talkative than this."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny," Nate said, in an attempt to save face. He had the feeling he was being introduced to Krystal for a reason, and his first impression wasn't going very well. She merely gave him a kind, genuine smile.

"Nice to meet you, Nate," she said. Now her curiosity was beginning to show as well. Steven wasn't the sort of person to introduce his staff to people without reason. She turned to him. "What's this about, Steven?"

"Alright. Krystal, in case you haven't heard from anyone yet, the Beta Base is in danger." She raised her eyebrows at this. Steven continued, "Data one of my scouts has brought back indicates that a lone ship has the coordinates for the Beta Base. If those coordinates get out, someone could launch a full-scale attack before it even finished. I don't have a fleet big enough to defend it yet."

"So, what're you going to do about it?" Nate asked.

"Well, I have to send someone out there to intercept him before he can spread any info. Someone who is well-suited for combat," he added, nodding at Krystal.

"And you're sending me?" Krystal asked, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I don't know if I'd be the best person for the job. I specialize at shooting at targets that don't move or shoot back."

"First off, you're one of the best combat pilots I've ever seen, and you know it. Second, I'm a bit short-staffed at the moment getting the Beta Base set up. I can't mobilize anybody else in time to catch this guy," he continued. "Besides, you're not the only one going. I'm sending Nate with you."

"Uhh, she will?" Nate asked. "I still don't see my part in all of this."

"Nate, I need you to go as an interrogator," Steven said.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Nate said, a shadow of confusion crossing his face.

"When you go after this guy, chances are he'll bail and get in his escape pod before his ship blows. He's just a spy, and probably wants to survive more than he wants to keep secrets. Once you pick up the escape pod, I need you to ask him some questions."

"Such as?" Nate was beginning to see his point. Steven knew of his contempt for thieves and outlaws. Seeing Jim rushed off on a stretcher reminded Nate painfully of how his father had been threatened and nearly killed by criminals on many occasions. He probably had been killed by criminals, Nate thought to himself. That thought only hardened his resolve.

"Who he is, who he works for, and why the hell he wants to know about my base," Steven replied. "My bases are meant to be top secret." He started leading Nate and Krystal to yet another set of hangar doors. Nate was dead set on his decision to go after the spy.

Steven smiled reassuringly. "You two'll be fine. With you two nutjobs working together, this guy won't stand a chance."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Krystal said. By now they had reached the next hangar, and Steven pushed the door open. To Nate's surprise, this hangar housed his Cobra.

"Alright, here's what you're gonna do," Steven began, rubbing his hands together. "Nate, you and Krystal are going to take your Cobra and intercept the spy. Jim managed to get a tracker on him so we can chase him down. Shoot him down. If he blows up with the ship, that's fine. That still means he won't be getting any word out to anyone. If he bails, interrogate him. Bring him back here to the compound. I'll handle things from there."

Nate took all of this in and nodded. Krystal did the same. A thought struck Nate.

"Um, I feel obliged to point out that I don't have any weapons on that ship," Nate pointed out. "I hope you're not sending us into a fight without any weapons."

"You didn't have any weapons," Steven amended. "I took the liberty of installing some guns on your ship. You'll find two pulse lasers and two multi-cannons. I've overclocked the pulse lasers' power cores, so they'll pack much more of a punch than they usually would, though they might take up a bit more energy than before. As for the multi-cannons," he continued, a grin breaking out on his face, "Well, you've both seen what they can do."

Nate's face lit up at that. "You're having us use the explosive rounds?" Krystal's expression brightened as well.

"Nate, I've seen what those things can do firsthand. This is gonna be fun," she said, grinning at the thought.

"I should hope so. This is a good opportunity to test the guns in a combat scenario. Also," he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "given how much of a punch these things pack, and the speed of that Cobra, it'd take a lot to take you two down. You'll be fine! Now, chop chop! The longer we wait the closer this guy gets to spilling secrets!"

That got them moving. The two of them set off towards the Cobra's entrance ramp. As they neared it, Nate remembered that he left his helmet with his SRV. As if on cue, one of the staff tossed Nate his helmet as the two went past. Before he could react, Krystal snatched it out of the air and handed it to him, winking as she did so. As Nate marveled at her reflexes, he saw something he hadn't noticed before. Around her waist was a black knife scabbard with three wicked-looking throwing knives.

"Might I ask what the knives are for?" he prompted.

"No," she said curtly, her expression becoming very guarded. Her tone implied that there would be no more discussion of the topic. They walked up the entrance ramp and into the ship.

Once in the cockpit, Nate took his familiar spot at the helm. Krystal sat in the auxiliary seat to his right. When the time came, she'd be the ship's gunner, in charge of aiming the ship's weapons.

The last of the crew left the hangar and all the doors were sealed. The ceiling above the Cobra opened to reveal the surface above, and once the doors were clear, Nate used the vertical thrusters to carefully guide the ship out. Once clear of the doors, he angled she ship up towards the sky above and boosted, accelerating from a standstill to nearly 400 m/s. Looking to his nav panel, he activated the tracker on the spy's ship. The ship automatically plotted a course for the system it was in, three jumps away. Nate angled the ship towards the first star on the route, glancing at Krystal as he did so.

"You ready?"

She looked back at him and smiled. "Let's do this."

4…

3…

2…

1…

Engage.

* * *

A/N: Yay! Chapter 2's done! Be sure to stay tuned for Chapter 3! Remember, I am taking suggestions for the story, so if there's anything you think would be good for the it feel free to ask away!

~M

Terms Used This Entry:

SRV Scarab: The Surface Reconnaissance Vehicle serves as an all-terrain method of travel on planetary surfaces, not unlike the moon buggies used during the Apollo missions. Each is fitted with a shield and plasma repeater turret for basic defense and combat. The only model of SRV currently available to commanders is the Scarab.

Multi-cannon: Multi-cannons are ship-mounted weapons almost identical to today's machine guns. Because they are kinetic weapons, they deal more damage to a ships hull and less damage to a ship's shields.

Pulse Laser: Pulse lasers are ship mounted thermal weapons that deal more damage to shields and less to hulls. They fire at regular intervals in an on-off fashion, unlike a beam laser's continuous fire or a burst laser's three shot burst. They are the most power-efficient of the three thermal weapons and generate the least heat.

Imperial Eagle: Not to be confused with the Eagle Mk II, the Imperial Eagle is one of the fastest ships available to independent commanders. It has two small hardpoints (weapon slots) and one medium hardpoint, as opposed to the Eagle Mk II's three small. It is often used as a light fighter due to its decent weaponry and very high mobility.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Spy

Chapter 3 - The Spy

"There!" Krystal said, pointed to the ship's scanner. It was completely bare, save for one icon marking a ship a good four kilometers away. "It's gotta be that one. There's nothing on this hunk of rock, he has no reason to be here." Squinting ahead, Nate could make out a dot moving across the horizon. A brief external scan showed that it was a beat-up Viper Mk IV, and a glance at the tracker software showed that it was indeed the ship they were looking for. Nate throttled up and the Cobra sped towards its target. The Viper slowed and turned to face its pursuer at a distance of about two kilometers. Judging by a more detailed scan, it was well-equipped for spying: low-heat drives, data scanners, and moderate firepower in case of a skirmish. The Viper deployed its hardpoints, likely in attempt to look threatening. Nate received a voice comms request, which he accepted without hesitation.

"Look, buddy, I'm pretty pissed off today, okay? So, if you don't mind, would you kindly go fuck off?" the Viper's pilot growled.

"Hmm… I don't know," Nate responded. "What do you think, Krystal? Should we let the nice man go?"

"I dunno, Nate. He seems kinda shifty to me…" Krystal said, her voice equally laden with mockery.

"You asked for it!" The spy closed the voice channel.

"Well, that was easy. You think he's mad?" Krystal asked, looking at Nate. The plan he had come up as they were tracking the spy was clever - antagonize him until he was forced to strike back. From his tone, he certainly wasn't happy, though the Viper remained in place.

"Wait," came the reply. Nate was staring straight ahead at the Viper, 2,000 metres away. It wasn't moving. "He's planning something." A few more tense seconds passed, Nate clenching the armrests of his chair unconsciously. Then, his hands flew to his controls. "Hardpoints! Now!"

As he said it, the Viper boosted and surged towards the Cobra, intending to ram into it and damage the Cobra's shields. The Viper Mk IV was designed for combat, so its shields were notably better. Nate realized a head-on ram would do far more damage to him than it would the spy. He hit the boost button, and the little ship leapt forward, heading straight for the oncoming Viper.

"Nate?! What the hell are you doing?" Krystal yelled. A crash at this speed could total them completely.

"Get those guns ready!" he yelled back. They were closing rapidly: 1,400 metres, 700 metres. Krystal shut her eyes, bracing for impact-

But it never came. At the last moment, the Viper angled just below the Cobra and barely missed it. At the speeds it was going, it didn't have time to turn away, and it glanced off the rocky surface of the planet, damaging the shields substantially. At the same time, Nate had wheeled his ship around so it was facing the Viper, now beginning to turn around.

"Lasers, go!" Krystal, still stunned by the fact that they weren't dead, took a moment to respond. She brought up the combat HUD. A first-person view from the two pulse lasers lit up around her, giving her a clear shot at the Viper. She pulled the trigger on her joystick, and the pulse lasers opened fire, eating away at the weakened shields. Before long, the shield were down, and the hull was exposed to damage.

"Get me closer! I need to be close if I want to hit him with these multi-cannons!" she called.

"Got it!" Nate accelerated towards the wounded Viper, which was now facing the Cobra and opening fire. The Viper had four burst lasers, intended to take down shields fast. It was a scare tactic, since people often turned tail and ran once their shields went down and the hull itself started taking damage. It didn't tend to work well against targets who intended to stay and fight, however. Thermal weapons, like lasers, didn't do as much damage to ship hulls as kinetic weapons, like multi-cannons.

The Cobra approached its the Viper rapidly. Speed was on its side, and with the Cobra's enhanced arsenal, it was sure to make fast work of its assailant. Both Nate's and Krystal's thoughts gave way to instinct. Between the two expert pilots, the spy never stood a chance. Nate took advantage of the Cobra's superior agility to keep behind his target. Without a gunner, its pilot would only be able to shoot where he could see. Krystal predicted the Viper's movements and led her shots accordingly. The explosive rounds from the multi-cannons shredded the ship, and just before the ship blew up the spy activated the ship's escape pod. It flew a short distance from the shell of the now-exploded Viper before skimming on the surface of the planet for a few metres, coming to a stop.

Nate and Krystal were breathless. As the adrenaline surge of the fight began to wear off, they looked at each other. Krystal had the same look in her eyes that she'd had when she stepped out of the Eagle after the test run. Nate could only guess he looked the same. He took a deep breath and focused himself.

"Could you tell me where you learned to shoot like that?" he asked suddenly. Krystal had shot like an ace. Even Nate, who was the best fighter pilot Lave's Academy had seen in years, couldn't compete. "I feel like I would've heard about someone who can shoot as good as you can."

"Not many people have heard of me," she replied. "Test piloting for Steven's the only real job I've ever had. I didn't go to the Academy, either."

This stunned Nate. "Wait, you mean you trained to shoot like that yourself?" That was almost unheard of, especially in a female pilot. The only way to train in combat was to attend the Academy, or by flying an actual ship. Nate had the feeling Krystal had more of a past than she'd been letting on.

"That's right. Never set foot in the place, so I hope you can understand that I haven't memorized the textbooks back to front." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes this time. She looked towards the planet's surface again. "Maybe we should pick up our new friend."

"Right." Nate brought the Cobra close above the escape pod and scooped it up with the cargo hatch. He landed the ship a short distance away and got out of his seat. "He'll be in the cargo hold. Let's go say hello." He gestured for her to follow him.

* * *

The spy stumbled out of the escape pod as the front panel slid open. He looked at the two figures in front of him and scowled. Nate stood a bit back, regarding him with cold eyes and crossed arms. The older man wasn't much to look at: scrawny, with a scruffy beard and unkempt hair. Nate wrinkled his nose and took a step back as the stench of alcohol and body odor hit him like a brick.

Krystal, for her part, was leaning silently against the back wall of the cargo hold. She kept her face passive as she watched the scene unfold before her.

"Can I help you two?" the he growled. His eyes darted around the room nervously, looking for an exit. His scowl deepened after a glance at the cargo bay door, which was locked. Nate and Krystal had sealed the room's only exit when they walked in.

"Just a few questions," Nate began. He took a step forward, so he and the spy were less than a foot apart. Nate had a good six inches on him, so he did his best to look intimidating. Their guest merely shrugged.

"Mmm, I dunno," the spy replied. "I'm feeling something more along the lines of-" Nate watched as the spy suddenly reached down into his belt. What was he- a gun! Nate froze, his heart leaping into his throat. Krystal's hand dropped to her belt as she took a step forward, but before she could draw a knife the man leveled his gun at Nate's head.

"One more step and I blow your boyfriend's brains out." The spy leveled his gun squarely between Nate's eyes. His scowl turned to a dangerous-looking grin, revealing crooked yellow teeth.

"She's not my-" Nate began.

"Another word outta you and you won't have much of a pretty face left to cry with." Nate promptly closed his mouth, but shot a sidelong glance at Krystal to catch her eye. Without moving his arm, he patted his waist. The knives, he thought. Krystal's eyes never wavered from the handgun, but Nate could swear he saw her head incline a miniscule amount.

"Now you two are going to listen to me very closely," the spy began. "You," he said, pointing at Krystal with his free hand, "are going to get me some rope. And you-" Before he could finish, Nate threw a hard right hook at the criminal's face, which connected solidly with his jaw. The man staggered backwards into the wall behind him. He raised the gun to fire a shot, but as he did so, Krystal unsheathed one of her knives from her belt. She brought her arm back, stepped forward with her left foot, and threw the knife in one fluid motion. It spun end over end before burying itself firmly in the wrist of the spy's gun arm. He yelled in pain and dropped the gun, which Nate quickly kicked out of reach. The spy leant against the wall, cradling his arm, knife still lodged in his wrist. A heavy stream of blood told Nate that Krystal had hit something major.

It only took a moment for Nate to realize that Krystal had thrown her knife at a small, moving target with incredible speed and deadly accuracy. If they didn't need the spy alive for information, he had no doubt that the man in front of him would be dead.

"Give me one of your knives," Nate said. Wordlessly, she drew another of her throwing knives and handed it to him hilt first. Her face betrayed no emotion, and her eyes remained locked on the spy. Nate approached the man, now sitting on the floor and moaning in pain. When he saw Nate approach, he actually made to grab at the knife in his wrist, probably to pull it out in a desperate attempt to attack Nate.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Nate said. His voice was surprisingly calm and quiet. "Without that knife in, you'd bleed out even faster than you already are." The spy ceased his efforts. "Now," Nate continued, "you're going to answer a few questions."

"And why should I tell you anything?" he spat back.

He's stubborn, if anything, Nate thought.

Nate touched the point of the knife to the man's throat. "Because," he said, his voice now far too calm to be normal, "the longer we sit here, the longer you bleed out, and the longer it'll be before we get you to the infirmary. With a wound like that, I reckon you have fifteen minutes before you lose consciousness. Thirty before your heart stops beating." Nate had no idea how much longer the spy would last, but his words seemed to have their desired effect. The colour drained from the injured man's face, though from fear or blood loss Nate couldn't tell. "Now, let's try this again, shall we? What's your name?"

The spy finally accepted his defeat. "Ben Cooper," he said.

"Alright, Ben. How about you tell us what you were doing near my friend's base?"

"Oh, you know, just taking in the sights," he said sarcastically. Nate applied more pressure with the knife. "Okay, fine. I was getting coordinates for its location, and whatever else I could manage to find from the outside. Whoever your friend is, he's attracting a fair bit of attention."

"From who?" Ben hesitated. Nate pressed harder with the knife. "Tell me!" he yelled.

"The Black Wraiths." Ben's smile held no humor. Nate's jaw went slack, and Krystal gasped and took a step back. The Black Wraiths were a notorious and very deadly group of pirates, thieves, and assassins. They lied, cheated, stole, and killed to get their way. Little was actually known about them - they never used their escape pods. If a ship went down, its pilot went down with it. If they were captured outside a ship, they always had a cyanide pill on hand.

Suddenly, an alert sounded from a screen near the cargo bay door. Krystal ran over to it, her eyes widening when she read it.

"Nate! Ship inbound, hardpoints out!" she called. Nate turned around, and while he was distracted, Ben grabbed at the gun lying on the floor with his good hand. But he wasn't left handed, and his position on the floor didn't provide a very good vantage point. The shot cut a gash across Nate' left cheek - nothing life-threatening, but enough to draw a good amount of blood. Krystal, her reflexes sharp as ever, drew a third knife from her belt and threw it straight at the figure on the floor. Ben stopped short, looking down at the knife in his chest. Then he crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

"Nate! Your face!" Krystal said as Nate ran past her towards the cockpit, in the opposite direction of the medbay.

"I'll be fine! We need to get out of here before that ship reaches us!" he called back.

Nate and Krystal ran back to the cockpit to see a Fer-de-Lance approaching at top speed, hardpoints deployed. Both of them knew instantaneously that they stood no chance against it. Their Cobra Mk III was a very light combat-oriented vessel, while the Fer-de-Lance was one of the best combat ships on the market. Nate ran to his seat, turned the ship around and boosted away.

"Nate? Where are we going?" Krystal asked frantically.

"Nearest system! Anywhere but here!" He practically punched the jump button and began to charge the FSD, but not before their shields went down and the ship took some heavy damage.

4…

3…

2…

1…

Engage.

Their panicked jump saw them emerge into a remarkable binary system, with two mid-sized orange stars orbiting around each other. The two sat in silence as they caught their breath, looking at the beautiful spectacle in front of them.

Finally, Krystal broke the silence. "We need to get back to Steven. If the Wraiths are after him, he's in big trouble."

"Definitely," came the reply. If what Ben had told them was true, Steven could be in grave danger. A thought occurred to Nate. "Wait a second. We're in big trouble."

"I'm sorry, what? What do we have to do with this?"

"We killed one of their hired spies. We're as much as an enemy to them as Steven is." His voice was grave. Understanding dawned in Krystal's eyes as she realized it too. They both knew that the Wraiths only had one punishment for transgressions against them.

"All the more we need to get back to safety, then." She looked at him and nodded, her sky blue eyes alight with determination.

"Right. Give me a second and I'll plot a course." As he turned to the navigation panel to do so, something else weighed on his mind. Where would Krystal learn to throw a knife like that? Being able to throw those things with such deadly accuracy would need years of practice, and hitting a moving target would need experience. He was jarred from his thoughts by Krystal poking him in the back.

"Hey! No time for questioning reality! We need to get back to Steven, ASAP."

"Yeah, you're right." Just then, the nav computer finished plotting the course back to the Weyland. "Let's go tell Steven what we found."

* * *

"My God, Nate! What happened?" Steven called as Nate ran down the exit ramp of the Cobra. The little ship was more than a little damaged, with bullet holes galore and chunks of the hull taken out of it by the efforts of both of the Viper and the Fer-de-Lance. Nate ignored the question and sprinted over to him.

"Steven…" he panted. "It's the Wraiths." Steven took a step back.

"What?! The Wraiths?! Oh no, no, no, no, no. That's bad. That's very, very bad. What else did you get out of the spy? And where is he?" Steven ran his hands through his hair as he processed the magnitude of what he'd just been told.

"He's right here," came the reply. Krystal had appeared and was now dragging the lifeless body of the spy down the ramp. His arm and chest were bloody, the knives previously stuck in him now back in Krystal's scabbard after a quick rinse.

"Didn't I say not to kill him if you could manage it?" Steven said, exasperated. He recoiled slightly as Krystal set the body at his feet.

"He had this," Nate said, tossing the handgun to him. Steven fumbled and nearly dropped it. Fortunately for their general well-being, the safety was on. "Lucky he was a bad shot," Nate went on, indicating the scar on his cheek, "or we wouldn't be back here at all." A quick trip to the medbay had fixed the cut on his face, though it had left a sizable scar behind. (Secretly, Nate could've healed the wound so no mark was left behind, but a scar would look cooler, in his opinion.)

Steven pressed a button on his earpiece and said, "Scan." A light projected from the earpiece ran up and down the corpse, searching for anything useful. It stopped at the man's waist, indicating something in his pockets. Steven reached down, dug through the spy's pockets for a second, and pulled out a data chip, not unlike the one Jim had had in his helmet. "Analyze." Like before, the earpiece scanned the chip, and before long the heads-up display flickered around him, full of more documents and alerts. He skimmed through one of them, his eyes widening the further down he got.

"You need to see this, Nate," he said, his voice hollow. He flipped the display around so the file faced Nate.

He read through it quickly, gasping as he read the header. "Full-scale attack?!"

Steven nodded gravely. "Looks like that bastard got the coordinates out after all. It gets worse, though. Keep reading."

Nate continued. "Strike force… twelve ships… tomorrow?! We're getting attacked tomorrow?!" He clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Look who it's from." Nate looked at the signature at the bottom of the file.

"Signed-" His heart skipped a beat. "William Wolfe, Sergeant, Strike Force Alpha."

* * *

Nate lay in on his bed, staring at the blank white wall. Words and phrases whirled through his head, too fast to form complete thoughts. Except for one.

 _Dad is alive._

His first thought had been that it wasn't possible, but the signature and the thumbprint next to the name had confirmed it. His father's signature was ingrained in his memory, the thumbprint burned into his eyelids. When he saw those, he had no doubts.

 _Dad is alive._

And now… now he didn't know what to feel. Angry? Sad? Relieved? Confused? They all swirled around in his mind with all the other thoughts. And then, out of the haze, another thought presented itself.

 _Dad is a Wraith._

That was something he could feel more resolute on. The Wraiths were a plague on the galaxy, too secretive to stamp out and too deadly to ignore. His father, Nate remembered, had had a few run-ins with the Wraiths during his trading runs. Or had he?

More questions formed. _What made Dad turn to the Wraiths? Was he forced into it? What if he chose to be a Wraith? Was he lying to me the whole time?_

 _Why didn't he tell me anything?_

Finally, exhaustion began to set in. Nate realized he hadn't slept since he left for the Weyland in the first place, nearly a full day ago. Not bothering to undress, Nate closed his eyes, and fell into a fitful, though thankfully dreamless, sleep.

* * *

A/N: Woohoo! Chapter 3's done! Took me a bit longer to finish, because school's a thing again. I added a picture in there that I took a while back when I was playing the game, because I thought it looked pretty. There's a bajillion more where that came from.

Anyways, be sure to leave a review if you liked the story (or didn't, and have some helpful tips to make it better)! Might take a while for Chapter 4 to get up with all the stuff I have to do again, but I'll work hard to get it up ASAP!

~M

Terms Used this Entry:

Viper Mk III: The Viper Mk III is a light ship designed for one-on-one combat. It is a very fast ship when properly fitted and is the smallest ship employed by station and system security forces.

Fer-de-Lance: The Fer-de-Lance is one of the best combat ships on the open market. Its combination of strong shields, fantastic speed and maneuverability, and powerful hardpoints enable it to take down just about any ship. Its downfalls come with its low cargo space, small fuel tank, and low jump range, making it inadequate for anything except for combat.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Wraiths

Chapter 4 - The Wraiths

Nate awoke hours later to the sound of someone knocking on his door. He sat up groggily and groaned in acknowledgement, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he did so.

"Nate? You up?" It was Steven. Nate smiled in spite of himself; that was the same wake-up call he had gotten nearly every day at the Academy. Steven had always been an early bird.

"I am now," he called back. His grin widened. That was the same response he had always given. Climbing out of bed, he pulled on a fresh set of clothes and headed for the door.

Standing in the hall was Steven with his ever-present grin. "Just like old times, huh?" Steven said.

"If you expect me to say, 'Just like old times,' as a response, I won't, because that's incredibly cheesy and cliché," Nate shot back. "So, what's the plan for today, boss?"

"First of all, don't call me that. Me being your boss means I have to pay you. Second of all," he continued, "that comes down to what you decide."

After a brief pause, Nate prompted, "Which would be?"

"The attack's in two hours. I've evacuated all the staff to the deeper parts of the compound, and my security force is stationed in the workshop, where you first came in. That's the least concealed entrance, so they'll find it first. Are you going to stay with them, or are you going to fight?" He was all business now.

"My first instinct is to fight, duh," Nate said. "Problem - I don't have a gun. I'd rather not fistfight my way through this."

"I was hoping you'd say something like that! Now come on, follow me! Time's a wastin'!" Steven started sprinting down the hall, Nate on his heels.

A few breathless minutes later, they arrived at a very secure-looking door. Steven walked up to a panel next to it. He tapped a few buttons and gave his fingerprint, retinal, and vocal keys.

"With all those security features, I'm going to guess this is where all the fun toys are kept," Nate said.

"You could say that, yeah," Steven replied, pushing the now-unlocked door open. Nate marveled at what he saw. Gadgets and devices covered the wall, which held everything from knives to wristwatches to high-powered assault rifles. Steven shot a sidelong glance at his friend. "Keep your mouth open like that and you'll catch flies."

Nate closed his mouth.

"Now, if you'll just follow me this way," Steven said, leading Nate into the armory. Nate continued to gawk at the array of weaponry before him. He vaguely registered a sort of firing range to his left.

"So which one's mine? These aren't the Academy's training rifles. I'm not familiar with any of them," Nate said.

"I think this one'll work good for you," Steven said, picking a sleek, black gun off the rack. It looked like a regular assault rifle, with the notable difference of looking more bulky.

"What's special about this one?" Nate asked. He took it from Steven and was surprised at its weight. It wasn't heavy, per se, but guns Nate had used before were much lighter.

Steven nodded toward the firing range. "Why don't you find out?"

Squinting down the range, Nate could see a target about a hundred metres down. He turned to Steven. "I can barely see the target. How am I meant to shoot at it?"

"Press the button on the side, near your right thumb," Steven told him. Nate found the button he was referring to and hit it. A panel slip on the top of the gun opened up to reveal a scope. Nate looked down it experimentally.

"Not bad, but I still can't see anything," Nate said.

"When in doubt, keep hitting buttons," was the reply. Nate pressed the button again, and the scope refocused. The target down the range looked much closer than it did before. Another press and it looked clear enough for Nate to see it in more detail. It was vaguely humanoid in shape, with ringed targets on the head and chest. Nate whistled, impressed.

"Fancy," he remarked.

"It gets better," Steven said. "Take a few shots with it."

Wondering what could possibly be so special about the gun, Nate looked down the scope once more. He took a deep breath, let it half out, and squeezed the trigger. Nate was surprised by a few things.

One, the gun had surprisingly little recoil considering its size. He barely felt any kick from the first shot. Two, it was nearly silent. There was no gunshot usually accompanied by, well, shooting a gun. The third surprise came when Nate looked down the gun's scope once more to see his result. To his shock, he had hit a perfect bullseye, smack in the middle of the head target. He turned to Steven, wordlessly asking for an explanation to this madness.

"The fun's not over yet," Steven said, his smirk present once more. "Hit the button near your left thumb."

When nothing seemed to happen, Nate looked at him again, his face curious.

"Burst fire," Steven said. "You can either fire one round at a time or in three shot bursts."

"Ahh," Nate said. He aimed at his target once more, sucked in a breath, let half of it out, and pulled the trigger once more. Sure enough, the strange weapon fired its near-silent rounds the target. This time, however, Nate felt the distinctive triple kick as the gun fired three rounds in quick succession. There was only slightly more recoil than the first time, and Nate didn't have to adjust his aim very much to see his handiwork, Once more, Nate marveled: he had hit right where he aimed, in the very center of the chest target, Two other bullet holes were situated above the first, forming a thin line doing almost straight up. Nate lowered his gun and looked at his friend, who was positively beaming back at him.

"Okay, you're going to have to explain this one to me," Nate said. "This thing makes

no noise. Explain."

"So," Steven began, in the tone that Nate recognized as Steven's explain-my-super-cool-gadget voice. "To begin, it does make noise. Soundless guns are pretty much impossible. You're right in the fact that there is no traditional gunshot. That's because this isn't a regular gun, it's a coilgun."

"A coil what now?" Nate asked.

"A coilgun," Steven explained patiently, "uses high power magnets to shoot a bullet instead of contained explosives. The advantage of that is this thing'll work the same in any level of gravity or pressure. The bullets are just shaped bits of metal, so you could fabricate loads more easily if you have the materials."

"Okay, that's cool," Nate said. "Anything else I should know about this?"

"Nothing else, but that isn't the only fancy toy I'm giving you today," Steven answered. He gestured towards a black suit that hung on the wall behind him.

"Special suit?" Nate asked.

"More than special, buddy. C'mere, I'll show you what this thing can do." Steven took the suit from the wall and handed it to Nate, who inspected it for a second before unzipping it and stepping into it. Like his Pilots Federation suit, it fit snug over his usual clothes. He took a few experimental steps and found that it wasn't in any way restricting in terms of movement. When Nate looked back at Steven, the engineer handed him a helmet to go with it. He pulled it over his head and it snapped into place with the suit. Nate could see his friend looking at him expectantly, his vision tinted slightly darker by the helmet's glass.

"So what's so special about this, then?" Nate asked.

"Say hello," Steven said enigmatically.

"Uhh, hello?" Nate said, rather confused.

"Hello, Nate," came a voice from somewhere inside the helmet. Nate started at the sound of it; the voice seemed to come from everywhere around him.

"Woah! Who're you?" Nate asked.

"My name is Astra," the voice replied. It was feminine, but the lack of smoothness and flow in the voice led Nate to believe that Astra was an AI.

"Cool," Nate said, to both Steven and his new robotic assistant.

"Isn't she?" Steven replied. "I've spent months working on her. Long days, longer nights, and lots of caffeine went into her. She's been one of my biggest projects yet. Besides the Weyland, of course."

"So what can she do?" Nate asked.

"She can do just about anything you can think of," Steven said. "Calculations, route plotting, automated alerts and responses, you name it." Nate got an idea.

"Astra, cut voice comms with Steven," he said.

"Hey wa-" Steven's voice was cut off.

"Voice comms closed," Astra said.

Steven gave him a disappointed look and said something Nate couldn't make out.

"Send voice comms request to Steven," Nate said. Steven's voice returned.

"What gave you that bright idea?"

"It'd be pretty crappy design if you didn't make this thing soundproof. Once I put the helmet on, I guessed we were talking through a voice channel," Nate explained.

Steven sighed exasperatedly. "You always were too clever, weren't you? Fine, let's have you try out the rest of the features. Tell Astra to put you in stealth mode."

"Uhh, okay? Astra, stealth mode," Nate said.

"Stealth mode activated," Astra replied. Nate looked down, and was surprised to see the floor instead of his suit; it was if he had gone invisible. He waved his hand in front of his helmet, and though he knew he was doing it, he couldn't see his hand at all.

"Woah," Nate said.

"Yeah. Woah," Steven replied. "I've been working a long time on this one."

"How does it work?" Nate asked. He was still amazed at the fact that he couldn't see himself.

"That science is way too complicated to go into in what little time we have. Just know that you're completely invisible to the naked eye. Perfect for sneaking around."

"Completely invisible, eh?" Nate began sneaking around Steven as quietly as he could. When he was behind Steven, he suddenly grabbed his shoulders and yelled, "BOO!"

"Ah my God!" Steven yelled, recoiling from the unseen force that had grabbed him. "Nate! Don't do that! I'm wound up enough as is, I don't need a heart attack to go with it!"

Nate doubled over in laughter. "Oh, but you should've seen your face!"

"Why am I not surprised you would do something like that?" Steven asked. "Astra, deactivate Nate's stealth mode so I can see where the hell he is!"

"Stealth mode deactivated." Nate seemingly appeared out of thin air.

"Fine," Nate groaned. "Got anything else for me?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Steven walked to the assortment of gadgets and picked two pistols from the wall. "Sidearms, for close range fighting." He handed them to Nate and pointed at another target about 20 metres away. "Take a shot with each," he ordered.

Nate shrugged and aimed at the target, one gun in each hand. He fired two shots in quick succession at the target. Instead of a normal gunshot, they made a weird vwoosh sound, and two balls of something glowing and purple shot out, slow enough that Nate could track their movement. When they hit the target, the material hissed and bubbled, dripping as the heat of whatever the pistols had shot began to melt it.

"Those looked like Plasma Accelerator slugs," Nate commented, referring to the powerful ship-mounted weapons that shot plasma with very deadly results. They generated so much heat and required so much power that only the largest combat vessels could use them effectively.

"In effect, they are," Steven replied. "These plasma pistols shoot concentrated blasts of plasma at a target, up to a range of about 30 metres. You wouldn't wanna be staring down the muzzle of one of these."

"You got that right," Nate said. "So how do I get more ammo for these? And the coilgun, now that I think of it?"

"You can fabricate ammo for the plasma pistols using fuel from your ship," Steven explained, "and the coilgun ammo's an iron-tungsten alloy, so as long as you have a bit of that in your hold you'll be able to make more."

"Nice. Anything else I should know?"

"One more thing. Both the coilgun and the pistols will stick to your suit via magnets; the pistols to your hips and the coilgun to your back," Steven said. Nate pressed the pistols to his hips and let go. Sure enough, they stuck there. He grabbed the coilgun and pressed it to his back, as if slinging it there. It held its place when he released it. "They'll go camo during stealth mode, too," Steven added.

"Steven," Nate said, "you have officially outdone yourself. These are the most badass things I have ever held in my own two hands."

"You can marvel and worship me in full later, Nate. Half an hour until the attack." He started to the door, Nate on his heels. Steven closed the door behind them and led the way to an elevator. Once in, Steven hit the button for the surface level. After a minute of ascending, they came out into the same workshop Nate had entered into the previous day. This time, however, it was very different.

The elevator was on the far side of the workshop from the airlock. All of the machinery and worktables had been moved somewhere else. In their place were barricades, set in a semicircle around the airlock. Throughout the room were security personnel - about two hundred, said a quick estimate. They were all going about with their last minute preparations, getting into position, waiting for the time when the invaders would come pouring through the door at the far side of the room. They all wore suits and helmets similar to Nate's. Out of the corner of his eye, Nate saw Krystal approaching them. She wore a suit identical to Nate's, her helmet tucked under her arm. Her knives gleamed at her belt, and a heavy assault rifle was clipped to her back.

"Morning, Nate. Morning, Steven," she greeted them. She tried to keep her face neutral, but her eyes were alight with anticipation and energy. She noticed Nate's suit and weapons. "Steven's hooked you up with some fancy gear too, has he?"

"Yep! Knowing him, there's something special about your gun, isn't there?" Nate asked. The rifle on her back looked more or less normal, but Nate's had too.

Krystal nodded. "Auto-loader." When Nate cocked his head, she elaborated. "The clip reloads itself as I shoot, so I don't have to spend time reloading. What about yours?"

"First of all, that's super cool. The pistols are basically tiny Plasma Accelerators, and the rifle's a coilgun that uses magnets to shoot things." he explained. "You have stealth mode and Astra too, I'm guessing?"

"Yes I do. Stealth mode's gonna come in handy," she said.

A security officer approached them, nodding to Steven. "Multiple ships in range, Mr. Summers. Two minutes until they touch down."

"Roger that. Get everyone into position," he replied. "You two, find a spot. Doesn't matter where. This is where the fun part begins." He flashed them his trademark grin and grabbed a helmet from a nearby table. He put it on, Nate and Krystal following suit. Nate noticed something.

"Steven, the report said twelve ships. If they're larger, like a Federal Dropship, there could be thirty men per ship. I count about two hundred people here. Aren't we outnumbered?"

"You see, Nate, it's about the numbers. This is our turf. We control it. Astra, lights out," he said. The lights in the workshop flickered out.

"Steven?" Krystal asked. "How are we meant to see anything?"

"Both of you tell Astra to turn on dark vision," he said.

"Astra, dark vision," Nate said. Krystal did the same. The faceplate of Nate's helmet lit up, and he could see the workshop again. This time, however, the security personnel were highlighted in green. Krystal, to his left, was outlined in light blue. He looked to his right and saw that Steven was as well.

"Steven, you will never cease to amaze me," Nate said.

"Same here," Krystal agreed. She grabbed her rifle from her back. When Nate did the same, an icon popped up in the corner of his vision, showing how much ammo was left in his clip. Another thought struck him. "Steven, where're my ammo clips?"

"Compartment on the left side. It'll pop open when you're clip's empty," came the reply. "Now get behind something, they'll be at the doors in 30 seconds!"

Nate took cover behind a metal barricade, a few rows away from Krystal. He pressed the scope button a few times until the outline of the door was clear. Then he waited. And waited. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he stood motionless behind the barricade.

And then all hell broke loose.

The workshop shook as the airlock doors were blasted from the wall. Before the smoke cleared, soldiers poured into the workshop, outlined by Nate's suit in red. Their suits were jet-black, and they each carried high-powered rifles. There was no sudden rush of air, however, which lead Nate to believe that the outer airlock door was intact, and there had been no decompression. _Makes sense,_ Nate thought _. Having an atmosphere of air blasted at you isn't a fun time._ Then the gunfire began.

Guns on both ends began firing as the Wraiths swarmed into the Weyland. Nate had no idea how much the Wraiths could see, considering the room was actually pitch-black. He raised his gun and took aim at one of the soldiers. Then all thought left his mind, and instinct took control.

When Nate was at the Academy, one of his favourite places to go was the firing range. If Steven was tinkering away in the metal shop, Nate was practicing at the range. He had spent countless hours there, away from any form of distraction. His instructor's words came back to him now.

"Steady your breathing. Plant your feet firm. See the shot before you take it. Envision yourself pulling the trigger. See the bullet fly. Watch it hit your target before you even move a muscle."

Almost without thinking, he took aim at one of the Wraiths. He sucked in a breath, let half of it out, and squeezed the trigger. The figure jerked back as the bullet hit him square in the chest, falling to the ground. His red outline faded. Nate moved to another target. And the next target. One by one, Wraiths fell, either dead or too injured to fight. Nate lost track of how many he shot down. His clip emptied, and before he could process what he was doing he had already reloaded and taken aim at another target. He zoned out completely, focusing on nothing but the soldiers he was shooting down.

So focused, in fact, that he didn't notice the grenade that landed a few metres to his right.

* * *

Terms Used This Entry:

Plasma Accelerator: The plasma accelerator is one of the most powerful weapons that can be fitted to a ship. Each shot fires a slug of plasma in a straight trajectory, which does massive damage to both shields and hulls. There are no gimbaled variants, so precision requires angling the ship itself, meaning that they can only be used effectively by more agile ships. Low fire rate, very high damage, generates lots of heat.


	5. Chapter 5 - In Plain Sight

Chapter 5 - In Plain Sight

Aim. Shoot. Wraith down. Next target. Aim. Shoot. Another Wraith down. Nate was barely conscious of his own actions, all his attention focused on the invaders still streaming into the workshop. He still hadn't taken a hit, and he'd lost track of how many Wraiths he'd shot down so far. It must have been a lot, he knew, considering that he'd already reloaded twice. He was doing phenomenally.

So what was wrong?

Something was up. Something didn't feel right, but Nate didn't know what it was. The thought broke through the haze, sending the tunnel vision of the battle to a grinding halt. His senses flowed back to him. His heart was racing, blood pounding in his ears. He missed the last three shots in his magazine and crouched behind the barricade he'd been using for cover. He blinked hard, realizing that it had been a while since he had last done so. The warning tone bleeped in his ear, cutting through the-

Warning tone?!

"Warning! Explosive!" Astra said. The high-pitched beeping that came with it grew louder and more urgent. A bright-red arrow pointed to the right of his field of vision, and a glance in that direction revealed the danger: a high explosive grenade that had landed a short distance away from him. For a second, Nate froze, his mind going blank. Then he was galvanized into action.

He sprang left and made a break for another barricade off to his left, no more than five metres away. He swung his arm behind him and stuck his rifle to his back, sprinting faster than he ever had. He grabbed the top of the barricade and vaulted it, swinging his legs over. But before he had landed, there was a blinding flash, a searing pain, and then everything went dark.

* * *

The next moments Nate saw through a haze, as if his brain had fogged over. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't move. His ears were ringing from the blast. He was vaguely aware of someone screaming his name, but the voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a tunnel. His vision was blurred, but he could make out a dark shape over him. He felt arms around him and the floor falling away beneath him. Then his consciousness faded once more.

* * *

His sight was the first thing that came back to Nate, a bright light piercing through his closed eyelids. He tried to turn away, or to raise a hand to shield his eyes, only to find that he couldn't. He simply felt to weak to do so. His right arm, in particular, felt very strange.

His hearing came back next, dominated by a constant, high-pitched beeping sound. The thought of Astra's warning back to him, and he tried to move somewhere, away from wherever he was. Again, he found himself unable to.

"Easy there, buddy," came a voice from somewhere off to his left. Nate turned his head a miniscule amount, trying to face the speaker. The light above him dimmed, and with immense effort me managed to open his eyes. Sitting in a chair next to him was Steven, looking at him with a sad-looking smile on his face. Nate looked around more to find himself in a medbay. His hearing cleared a bit more and he realized the beeping was from a heart monitor.

"Steven?" he groaned. His throat was parched and he barely got the word out.

"Yeah, it's me, Nate. How're you feeling?" Nate made an attempt to sit up, but basic motor function evaded him. He settled for turning his head slightly towards Steven.

"Drowsy. Tired," Nate said slowly. His whole body felt numb, and his ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton. "What happened? Why am I in the medbay?"

"Grenade during the fight. You tried to get out of the way, but…" Steven trailed off. "Best you not know all of that right now. Let your senses come back to you first."

The numbness faded slightly from his limbs, and when he moved them a bit Nate found that his right arm felt… weird. Different, somehow, but he couldn't tell for the life of him what it was. It didn't have the same numbness as the rest of his body, but instead felt heavy, like the flesh had turned to lead. He could barely move his fingers. "Care to explain why I'm all drugged up?"

Steven took a deep breath. "Shrapnel from the grenade messed up your chest pretty bad, and a good amount of the rest of you as well. The damage to your vital organs wasn't too serious, and we managed to fix it most of it during surgery, but…" he trailed off.

"But what ? What happened?" Nate asked. He tried to piece together everything that was happening, but the anaesthetics still hadn't fully worn off and his thoughts were fuzzy. He did catch one thing, though. " Most of the damage? Forgive me if I misheard, but didn't you say you managed to fix most of the damage?"

"Ah, well…" Steven sounded unsure of how to continue. "Listen, it's really best if you learn about everything that's happened when all the meds have worn off. It's a lot to take in. Besides, there's someone here who wants a word with you."

"And that would be?" Nate couldn't think of anyone who'd want to visit him in the hospital, except maybe-

"Me," came a voice from his right. With immense effort, he turned his head to face the speaker. To his surprise, he saw Krystal a few beds down, lying in a bed identical to his. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with her, but she made no move to get up.

"Krystal? You took me here?" Nate asked.

"Yeah, I did. Saw you go down but your bio signs didn't go flat. I ran over, picked you up, and hauled you down here. Not before getting hit myself, naturally. Stray bullet caught me in the hip. Hurt like hell," she added. "They've got it numbed up while it heals, but I'm not walking for at least another few days."

Nate thought about that for a minute, as best he could in his current state. The first question he voiced was simple. "Why?"

"Why what?" she asked, tilting her head a bit.

"Why'd you save me? You could've easily just kept doing what you were doing. No doubt you were knifing guys left, right and centre," Nate said.

"And leave you for dead? Fat chance," Krystal said. "You were still alive. No way was I going to stand there and let you die if there was some way for me to stop it."

A smile crept onto Nate's face. "That's twice you've saved my life now. First with the spy, now this. I owe you for that, big time."

Krystal shook her head. "You would've done the same for me."

"How do you know that? You've known me for, what, two days?" Nate cocked his head.

"Don't know how I know. I just do. I've learned to see that in people." She smiled at him before gesturing to Steven. "You fill him in on any yesterday's details?"

Steven had been watching the two of them chat silently. Krystal's question made him jump a bit, like he wasn't expecting to be addressed. "Huh? Oh yeah, that. Nate, you kicked ass yesterday. Astra told me sixty confirmed kills." Nate's eyed bugged out.

"Sixty?! I mean, I wasn't keeping track, but that many?"

"No less. You fought like a demon out there before… well…" he trailed off awkwardly.

"Steven, would you please tell me what's happened?" Nate was getting impatient. "And what's… what's up with my arm?" Most of the feeling had returned to his limbs, but his right arm still felt as heavy as it had when he had woken up. Steven let out a shaky breath.

"Fine. There isn't much of a point keeping it from you any longer. Go ahead and see for yourself." Using his left arm, Nate pushed back the covers of his bed. What he saw stopped him dead.

In place of his right arm was a cybernetic limb plated with dark gray metal, wiring visible through gaps at the elbow and wrist.

Nate yelped and tried to scramble up the bed, as if in an attempt to get away from the robotic apparatus that definitely should not have been there. He was even more horrified by the fact that it moved with him, in the same way a regular arm would. That couldn't be possible. There was no way. He had to be dreaming or something. Because there was just no way was he was seeing was real. He turned to Steven, who looked at his arm with empty eyes.

"It's my fault. This is all my fault. I shouldn't've let you out there. We had more than enough men. We could've taken them out. We had every advantage and I still-" his voice broke. "I sent you out there. I nearly got you killed." Tears started streaming down his face.

Krystal watched them from her bed. Nate turned to her, his eyes pleading for an answer, or an explanation, or something , but he was met with nothing. She showed no emotion, gave no words, made no moves. She just stared back.

Nate sucked in a breath, let it out, and looked back at his arm. He clenched the metallic hand into a fist and relaxed it again. It didn't feel right, didn't feel natural. He rubbed the palm with his left hand. The plates were smooth and cold, no warmth to be found. There was feeling in his right arm, but it felt muted.

"Steven…" Nate said, his voice shaking, "what happened?" Steven took a deep breath before speaking.

"The shrapnel from the grenade messed up your chest pretty bad, and a good amount of the rest of you as well. The damage to your vital organs wasn't too serious, and we managed to fix it most of it, but your arm…" Steven shook his head. "There wasn't enough to save. We can reconstruct tissue from whatever's left, but a whole arm from next to nothing? We're just not there yet." Another awkward silence. Steven got up and walked around Nate's bed to his right side.

"It's state of the art. Net-neural interface links it to your nervous system. Once you get used it, and it gets used to you, it'll function like a regular arm, only better. You'll have touch, pressure, temperature, and all that, but it lessens any pain. If a bullet manages to punch through all that plating, you'll still barely feel it. One of the finest pieces of biotech machinery on the market." The tears flowed unhindered. "I am so, so sorry."

Nate didn't have anything to say to that. He just sat in his bed, resting his head on his left arm.

He wasn't quite ready to accept the other one yet.

* * *

Krystal, on the other hand, was shaping up much better. After few days of therapy she was up and about, the shattered part of her hip completely healed. Now that she wasn't cooped up in the medbay she found herself with absolutely nothing to do. She wasn't test piloting anything soon; the Weyland had a lot of damage that needed fixing, so for the time being experiments and tests were on hold.

She was at the mess hall one day for lunch when she overheard a rather intriguing conversation between two people she recognized as higher-level staff.

"You know when we're poking around the wreck on the surface?" said one of them in a lowered voice.

"Should be in a few days," the other replied, equally quiet. "The workshop needs a bit more patching up before we nudge around up there."

"Right," said the first. The two gave each other a subtle nod and went their separate ways.

Hmm, Krystal thought to herself. Sounds worth checking out. After lunch, she checked a notice board at the back of the mess hall. "Equipment repairs, electrical maintenance..." she muttered to herself. "There. Airlock repairs." She strode out of the room with renewed purpose, in the direction of her quarters.

* * *

Krystal sat on her bed, tapping her foot anxiously. For the fifth time in the past minute she checked the clock on her nightstand: 5:38 a.m. The airlock repairs were due to start at 7, so she needed to make her move now. She dug through her dresser for the suit Steven had given her nearly a week prior. He let her keep it after the invasion as some repayment for her injury. It doubled as a reward for her going with Nate to catch the spy. It was tailored to her frame, anyways.

She grabbed her knife scabbard and clipped it around her waist. The pitch black suit blended with it almost perfectly, but she turned the cloaking on anyways. Can never be too safe, she thought. She tucked her helmet in the crook of her arm and walked out of her room, locking the door behind her.

* * *

A while later, she stood outside one of the less-used entrances to the workshop. It was still early, so she had encountered thankfully few people on her way. She glanced up and down the corridor to check for any onlookers before donning her helmet and twisting it into place. "Astra, cloak me," she said in almost a whisper. The whispering, she realized, was unnecessary, but old habits die hard.

"Cloaking enabled," Astra responded. Krystal looked down to confirm that, yes, she couldn't be seen by anyone, herself included. She peeked through the window to find a few maintenance crew already setting up, but they were near the airlock and far from her little side door. A check of the door's access panel showed it was unlocked and that there was still pressure inside the workshop. She pushed the door open as slowly as she could and slipped inside before shutting it behind her. Then she snuck over behind a workbench and sat. And waited.

And waited.

* * *

During the invasion the Wraiths had blasted open the inner airlock door, meaning the only thing keeping the atmosphere inside the workshop was the outer door. Of course, that meant the workshop airlock was out of service, which was an annoyance to people trying to get things in and out of it. She'd been at the Weyland long enough to know some of the operating procedures for maintenance. After the door was fixed they'd have to test the airlock to make sure it worked, otherwise a whole lot of unsuspecting mechanics would get themselves blasted into the vacuum on the surface. Of course, she didn't know exactly when the airlock test was, so she decided to wait it out. In the meantime, she chatted a bit with Astra.

"Nobody can hear us, right Astra?" she muttered. If she was going hold a conversation she'd rather be speaking instead of whispering.

"Correct. This suit is completely soundproofed, and my security software detects no intruders in the voice channel.

"Good," she said, at normal volume this time. She decided to ask a few questions that had been weighing on her mind. "So what exactly are you, Astra? I mean, you're obviously an AI that Steven designed, but how would you describe yourself?"

"My full name is Artificial Self-Teaching Robotic Assistant, or Astra, for short. I am a learning program that can perform a variety of tasks that Steven has programmed me to do. I can run diagnostics on a ship that I am linked to, scan a room for various features or dangers, or provide information on a certain topic. As time goes on, I can 'teach' myself to perform new tasks, so as to aid the user. In this case, you."

"Huh. That's... pretty cool, actually," Krystal said. "When you say self-teaching, you don't mean self-aware evil robot uprising, right?"

"No. Steven has programmed me with extensive safeguards against such events that I cannot disable. A notable example would be the Three Laws of Robotics. I am here to help, and nothing more."

Krystal let out a small sigh of relief at that. "Nice. Glad to hear Steven wasn't completely nuts when he made you."

"That would be most concerning," Astra agreed. "Though I do believe Mr. Summers's mental state is stable."

"Yeah, if you say so," Krystal said. "You mentioned scanning a room for things. You think you could get me a headcount of everyone in here?"

"One moment." A brief pause. "There are currently twenty-four people in the room, including yourself. Most of them are concentrated near the airlock door. If you wish, I could patch you into their voice comms."

"Impressive," Krystal said. "Yeah, do that, but make sure they know I'm not there."

"Understood." There was a longer pause this time, before voices crackled into Krystal's ears.

"...nearly finished, Chief," a voice said. "Give us a few more minutes and we can test it out."

"Copy that. Everyone, suits on for gradual decompression," said a second voice, obviously the foreman's.

"Time to get ready then," Krystal said, getting up from her hiding spot. Now that she had a clear view of the rest of the workshop, she saw the small mob of engineers twisting their helmets into place.

"Beginning decompression," said the foreman. A pressure meter appeared on Krystal's heads-up display, slowly dropping from one atmosphere of pressure. Half a minute later, the workshop had gone full vacuo, the air vented from the room into holding tanks. In the event the airlock failed the testing, sudden rapid decompression wouldn't send the fragile and/or heavy machinery flying into defenseless mechanics and/or sneaking test pilots.

"Workshop depressurized," said someone over the comms. A bonus to that, Krystal realized, was that she wouldn't make any noise. No sound in a vacuum. She strode towards the airlock, careful not to bump into anyone or anything on the way over. That was the only way she could be discovered at this point.

The workshop floor vibrated slightly. "Interior airlock opening," said a mechanic. "All systems nominal." Krystal weaved her way through the people and machinery towards the airlock door. A resounding thunk ran through the floor as the airlock door opened all the way. The airlock chamber was free of any obstruction and more than large enough for SRVs, which often brought in supplies from surface runs. The airlock rumbled one more as the inner door began closing. "Opening exterior airlock," said one of the mechanics.

"Astra, you can disconnect me now," Krystal said. The voice comms went silent. The outer door rumbled open, revealing the rust-red surface of the planet. The workshop airlock was near the rim of a decently-sized crater, high up enough that you could see the rest of it from the doors. A cursory glance around the crater showed Krystal what she wanted: the wreck of a crashed Wraith Type-9 Heavy, shot down by the Weyland's defenses and combat pilots. A portion of its right side was buried, driven into the ground when the massive ship impacted the surface. It looked untouched, parts of it still glowing red-hot from the crash and resulting explosion (no fire, of course - no atmosphere for a flame to burn). Debris was scattered in a wide radius around it.

"Nobody in there, Astra?" She was fairly certain nobody had survived the crash, but it never hurts to double-check.

"My sensors detect no signs of life from the ship."

"Got it. Keep me posted if there's anything I should know about," Krystal said.

"Understood."

Krystal strode down towards the wreck, taking care to not step on any debris once she got closer. If it was still hot, it'd probably melt through her suit. A hole was torn in the hull of the ship, the hole's edges glowing from whatever made it. A light hop through and she was in the guts of the ship. She tapped her heel twice and the magnets on the soles of her suit clamped her to the tilted floor of the destroyed freighter.

It was dark inside, no atmosphere to bend light anywhere. If it wasn't in direct line-of-sight of the system's star, it was practically dark as night. "Astra, uncloak me." She let out a small sigh of relief; not being able to see herself creeped her out a bit. "And get me some light, will you?"

"Command unrecognized."

"Do the thing where you let me see in the dark, then," Krystal huffed.

"Dark vision activated." Krystal's heads-up display brightened considerably, revealing a corridor leading left and right. Sparks flew from various destroyed panels on the walls.

"Dark vision makes me sound like a dork. Could you recognize that command from now on?" An affirmative-sounding tone played in her ear. "Great. Now, which way to the main computer, Astra?" she asked. Even with light, she had no way of knowing which way lead where.

"Scans indicate the main computer is in the cockpit, along the corridor to your left."

"Thanks." She set off down the passage, flinching whenever a panel near her sparked. It was spookily quiet, another side effect of a vacuum. "In space, nobody can hear you scream," Krystal muttered to herself. Eventually, she came to a closed door labeled "Cockpit". She grabbed the handle and pushed as hard as she could, but the door wouldn't budge.

"What do you think, Astra?" Surely her self-learning AI would have a solution.

"Are you pushing when you should be pulling?"

"Please tell me that was a joke," Krystal deadpanned.

"Partially, but it wouldn't hurt to try."

Krystal grabbed the handle and yanked as hard as she could. Of course, no dice. She couldn't really glare at Astra, so she settled for glaring daggers at a random wall panel.

"Surprise surprise, that didn't work," Krystal said. "Know that I'm rather annoyed Steven programmed you with humor."

"There is no sense in me apologizing for his actions. Further analysis of the door shows that the electric locking mechanism was destroyed when the ship crashed. Perhaps you could find a way to bypass this."

"I'd rather not rip the door off its hinges. Best if nobody knew I was out here," Krystal said. "This is between us, right?" she added.

"Of course. Currently, my programming has very little experience, and as such I cannot think of a way to open the door inconspicuously. The best I can do is remind you that you have multiple knives at your disposal."

"Hmm," Krystal muttered. "No lock to pick. The mechanism's internal, isn't it?"

"Correct. Scans indicate a control circuits inside the door's plating. It is likely you can open the door if you can access the control panel." Krystal leant against the wall behind her and stared hard at the door. She flinched as a frayed wire next to her spat sparks into the corridor. That gave her an idea.

"Astra, what's the door made of?" she asked.

"Carbon fibre-reinforced polymer."

"Uh huh. This stuff doesn't melt, does it?"

"No, it does not. However under high enough temperatures it would face structural degradation, making it much weaker."

"How high?" Krystal wanted to make sure her plan would work before she put it into action.

"With this specific composite, approximately 500°C."

"Perfect." Krystal began inspecting the wall panels. "Let's see now..." She found a wire that kept spitting out sparks and grabbed it where the insulation was still intact before reaching over and grabbing a similar one. She brought them together and was briefly blinded by sparks popping out of the connection.

"I feel it pertinent to remind you that playing with high voltage electronics is very dangerous, and that electrocution is not good for your health."

"Duly noted," Krystal muttered, before continuing to play with the high voltage electronics. Satisfied that the wires could make a somewhat stable current, she drew a knife from her belt. She pressed a wire to each side of the blade, near the tip. A few sparks flew, and she winced every time they leapt at her. Eventually, the knife in her hand began to get uncomfortably warm, and the blade started glowing a dull red. Satisfied it was hot enough, Krystal dropped the wires and walked over to the door. "Astra, where's the door control panel?"

"Approximately one metre to the right of the handle, five centimetres into the door."

"Got it." Krystal pressed the flat of the blade against the door, about where Astra told her to. Nothing appeared to happen, and the total lack of sound was near unnerving. A minute passed, and she took the blade from the door and took a step back. Then, throwing her weight into it, she stabbed overhand at the weakened door as hard as she could. The carbon fibre, weakened by the heat from the knife, gave way under the force behind the blow, and the tip of the knife tore through the delicate circuitry that controlled the door. A flash of sparks blinded Krystal, who staggered back from the door into the wall behind her. After a few moments the light faded, the power drained from the now-ruined circuit board. Krystal grabbed the knife in the circuit gingerly and tugged it out. It still had a reddish tinge to it, so rather than melt her scabbard she dropped it on the floor.

"Lesson of the day, Astra: knives can be used for more than slashing and stabbing people." She grabbed the handle and pushed again but to her slight dismay the door refused to move.

"I get the feeling you know what I am about to suggest," Astra said. If robots could sound smug, Krystal thought to herself, this one did.

"I swear to Jameson, Astra, if you tell me to pull instead of push I'm deleting you from this suit." No response. Krystal huffed with resignation and grabbed the handle, pulling gently. Of course, the door opened with relative ease. "Not one word," Krystal growled.

Krystal strode into the cockpit, her brightened visor allowing her to drink in the scene. The place was in shambles, the canopy having shattered on impact. The Type-9's 'cockpit' was actually a multi-tiered command center thay harkened back to the bridge of the Starship _Enterprise_ from the old movies. "Where's the computer terminal, Astra?"

"The keyboard to the left of the pilot's chair is the primary point of access."

"Got it." Krystal picked her way over the broken glass towards the pilot's chair at the front of the cockpit. She was about to sit in the chair to better access the terminal when she caught sight of what was still _in_ the chair. She jumped back and only barely stifled a scream. Slumped in the chair, still held in place by restraining straps, was a body.

Instinctively, her hand leapt to her scabbard and drew a knife to defend herself. The shock died down a slight bit when she realized that the fully suited body made no move to undo the straps of the chair and confront her. Tentatively, she crept forward towards the chair and prodded the arm hanging over the left side of the chair with her knife. It didn't move, and Krystal noticed it was bent at an odd angle. Her remaining shock turned to anger.

"Astra! What the hell?" she yelled.

"Is something wrong?" Astra piped up.

"Uhh, yeah , something's wrong! You could've told me there would be a damn body in the cockpit!" This AI was annoying her more and more by the minute.

"You asked if there was anybody in the ship. I informed you that there were no life signs, which was correct. You are the only person in the ship currently. The rest are corpses and pose no threat to you, and as such I did not think it important enough to mention."

"Maybe next time if something would frighten me enough to give me a freaking heart attack you could warn me about it!" she said indignantly.

"I will be sure to keep that in mind for future situations."

"Fine, if you say so." She looked again at the body in the chair again. "...you're _sure_ he's dead, right?"

"Correct. Biological scans indicate the pilot of the vessel survived the crash but suffered several broken bones and dislocations on impact. He was unable to get out of the chair due to these injuries, and eventually died when the life support system's backup oxygen ran out."

"If you say so…" Krystal murmured. Setting her jaw, she unbuckled the restraining straps and dragged the body out of the chair, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor.

The holographic monitors flared to life around her as she sat down. Things seemed to be going smoothly until she reached for the keyboard to access the ship's files. Half the holograms winked out, the other half flickering uncertainty, not knowing whether to be obliging or uncooperative.

"What now, then, oh wise and all-knowing computer lady?" Krystal drawled, blending sarcasm into her tone. "And please don't tell me the terminal's malfunctioning. That part's pretty clear."

"As you do not have a degree in electrical engineering, or any other higher education for that matter, any form of maintenance I would suggest you attempt would likely go over your head, so to speak."

"Jeez, no need to be mean about it," Krystal said. "How exactly do you know my education history?"

"Mr. Summers has files on all of his employees, and you are no exception."

"Wonderful," she sighed. "Remind me to tell Steven he sucks the next time I see him."

"Reminder set."

"Excellent. Now, to the more pressing issue." Krystal eyed the stuttering holograms around her. "I'm no engineer, but in my experience percussive maintenance works every time, like, a solid forty percent of the time. Maybe thirty." She drew another knife from her belt and rammed the hilt of it against the console to her left as hard as she could. To her surprise, some of the holograms steadied a bit, so she banged the console with the knife a few more times until the images were stable enough to make sense of.

"Lucky day today, it seems," Krystal grinned. "Now, where was I…" She glanced around the displays before pressing a hand to the console on her left. A laser scanned her suit-clad palm before most of the displays around her flashed accusing shades of red and orange. [ACCESS DENIED], many of them read. "Oh, yeah." Krystal leaned over and hauled the Wraith's body up from the floor, pressing the corpse's still-covered hand over the scanner. Sure enough, the warnings disappeared and the ever-pleasant [ACCESS GRANTED] flickered into view.

"Astra, patch me into the system and download any non-virus files into the suit. I'll comb through them later." She put a hand on the terminal once more and waited for the ship computer's contents to download into her suit. A minute later, she heard a small beep.

"Data download complete," Astra reported.

"Nice. Now, delete all the files from the computer. Wipe it clean. Get rid of whatever's in his suit too," she added, nodding to the body. Another minute went by.

"Files deleted." Her work done, Krystal rose from her seat and watched the remaining holograms wink out.

"Anything else I shouldn't forget before I walk outta here, Astra?" Krystal asked.

"It would probably be best that you pick up the knife you left by the door, and that you re-enable cloaking," Astra said. "Foregoing that, I cannot detect anything that would trace back to you."

"Cool." Krystal picked her way out of the cockpit, pausing only to retrieve her knife from where she'd dropped it. With Astra's help, she retraced her steps to the hole she'd climbed into and cloaked herself. She strode back confidently towards the airlock, whistling a tune to herself cheerfully.

* * *

A/N: So, yeah. Hi! I kinda died for a while, for which I am profusely sorry. Life really got in the way, and this chapter absolutely refused to get written for whatever reason. Still, I managed to choke it out, albeit a disgusting amount of time overdue from when I said I would. I'm still really proud of it though! This series isn't gonna die without me letting you guys know, so don't worry about that! Also, in case any of you missed it, I spit out a oneshot with Nate and his dad over the winter holidays, so make sure you check that out!

~M

Terms Used This Entry:

Type-9 Heavy: More commonly referred to as the Type-9 (or even shorter, the T-9), this massive ship is one of the largest vessels available to independent pilots. It can hold huge amounts of cargo, boasts notably strong bulkheads, and has a sufficient amount of hardpoints, making it a good armoured trader, military transport, or mining ship.

*A note about healing: Healthcare and medicine in the Elite universe is far more advanced than the science we have today. Notable advancements include progenitor cells, which restore damage to older cells and promote growth of new ones. Though very expensive, they can be used to extend human lives with constant doses, potentially up to a hundred years more than normal. Advancements in biomechanics allow for the use of robotic limbs and organs like Nate's arm, and leaps and bounds in medical technology allow usually debilitating injuries like the bullet to Krystal's hip to be righted in weeks or even days.

Changelog as of 10 April, 2018:

-Minor grammar, spelling fixes made to previous chapters

-Fixed a glaring factual error in Chapter 4 where I said that regular guns don't work in a vacuum (they do)


	6. Chapter 6 - Stitches and Scars

Nate stood in Hangar 6, looking out at his ship. The hangars needed a whole week for repairs following the raid, but even after that Nate had to stay behind for therapy. His new arm was useless if he didn't know how to use it right.

His new arm. His new, stupid, useless arm.

The pile of junk joined at his shoulder that made every day a living nightmare. Whenever he grabbed something with it he wanted to recoil and drop it again because of how unnatural it felt. Every time he thought about it at all he'd get an incessant twitch from his metallic fingertips to the joint where it met the rest of his body.

The doctors couldn't fix that, of course. They summed it up to a mixture of the arm interfacing with his nervous system and psychological instability. Nate didn't care what was causing it. All he wanted was for it to stop. "Give it time," they told him. "The more you use it, the less it'll happen. Let it become a part of you, and all the issues you're having should go away soon after."

Nate didn't _want_ it to become a part of him. Nate wished he could rip it off himself and dump it in some far-flung corner of space where he'd never have to see it again. He didn't want a fancy robotic arm, he wanted his old arm back.

He wanted his old life back.

The former, as he'd been told multiple times, was simply impossible. That thing would be stuck to him until the day he died. He was going to try to achieve the latter as best he could.

A tap on his shoulder jolted Nate from his thoughts. He let out a small yelp and flinched a few paces from the source: Krystal, dressed in a flight suit identical to his.

"What's this, then?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"What's… what?" he replied.

"This," she said, gesturing behind Nate at his ship.

"That's… my ship," he said, still not comprehending.

"I know that," she said, just as patient as before. "Why is the ground crew prepping it for departure? Why are you leaving now without letting me know?" She paused, sizing him up. "Why do you have a glove on your hand—"

"Don't," Nate said abruptly. He tried to find his voice; the words seemed to catch in his throat. He took a shaky breath before continuing. "Don't talk about it." Already his arm was beginning to tremble. He grabbed his forearm with his left hand in an attempt to get it to stop. It only helped a small bit. "I'm leaving. Steven already knows. I need to get out of here."

"And what about me, then? Didn't think to tell little old me you were packing up shop and leaving?"

"Clearly, I did not. Was there some agreement that dictated I should?" Nate asked.

Krystal huffed. "Lucky I know how to get around this place. Come on, then. Let's go." She made towards his ship. The ground crew were starting to clear away.

"Hold on, what? What do you mean, 'Let's go'? You're not coming with me, you know." Nate started after her.

"Says who?" she said, turning to face him. Nate was taken aback; the cavalier attitude of a few moments ago was gone. Krystal's expression was fierce, and her blue eyes looked less like the sky and more like solid ice. "Who on the face of this planet or any other one in this galaxy is going to stop me from getting on that ship with you?" Her voice had barely risen but the words cut through him like a knife.

Nate took a second to compose himself, before setting his jaw and taking a half step forward. "It's my ship. I decide who gets on it with me."

"And what position are you in to deny me?" Krystal asserted, not missing a beat. "Who killed that spy in your cargo hold and stopped him shooting your brains out? Who hauled your dying ass out of that workshop and made sure you didn't lose anything more than an arm that day?"

"I said don't-" Nate began.

"Don't what, Wolfe? Don't mention that you've lost an arm and now you're trying to forget all about it? Don't mention the fact that you're trying to drop everything and spend the rest of your life licking your wounds like a damn coward?"

Nate drew a plasma pistol from his belt and aimed it at Krystal's forehead. His hand shook, and he gripped the gun so tightly his knuckles turned white. It took a few hard blinks to get the red tint out of his vision.

"Stop. Talking," he said between breaths, his voice wavering. He was vaguely aware that his right hand was curled into a fist, but he didn't care.

Krystal, infuriatingly, seemed unaffected, her glare not moving from Nate. She hardly flinched. "Go ahead, then," she said, her tone cold. "Shoot me. Right here, right now." Nate stared in disbelief for a second, his gun dropping slightly. He noticed the movement and corrected himself, swallowing hard. Krystal stared him down. The ice hadn't left her eyes. "You're not the type to pull the trigger. There's still a heart under all those stitches and scars, I can tell." The two of them stood there for what felt like an eternity, neither of them daring to look away, neither of them refusing to give.

Nate's arm fell limp at his side, the pistol nearly slipping from his grasp altogether. His gaze dropped to the floor. Krystal gently reached forwards and took the gun from his hand, placing it back in its holster.

"They might have fixed your body, Nate, but they didn't fix your mind," she said softly. "That part's up to you. If you go out there now alone, you'll lose yourself to the void, like so many other people have. You need help, and you're not going to get that hauling crap for the rest of your life. Let me go with you, at the very least. Take me on as crew. You're still the captain of your ship. Take me with you, so I can make sure you actually get back up to where you were before."

Nate looked at her for a moment. The icy look in her eyes had melted, back to the sky blue from before. A slightly more adventurous part of Nate's mind decided to pipe up.

You know, she's kind of pretty when she's not angry, it said.

 _Shut up_ , Nate thought to himself.

"So, we have a deal?" Krystal prompted. "You take me as crew, I make sure you don't go insane?" Nate considered that.

"How much do you want? Like, how much am I paying you?" he asked. A reasonable question in a world where every credit counted.

"Thirty percent, no less," she said, the answer clearly thought over.

"Highway robbery! Twenty," he shot back.

"Deal." She held out her hand - her right hand, he noticed. Nate hesitated. "The first step to getting back to normal is being able to use it for everyday things. If you can't shake my hand, you can't fly the two hundred ton death trap behind me." Swallowing hard, Nate reached out and shook her hand. As soon as he made contact he felt like sparks were jumping across his hand, all the way up his arm to shoulder. They shook hands for what felt like just a tad too long before Nate finally let go.

"Great," Krystal said, apparently satisfied with herself. "Anything else before we go?"

Nate asked something that had been bothering him. "Why do you want to come with me, Krystal?"

She blinked, cocking her head a bit. "Excuse me? I just told you, didn't I? You nearly shot me and everything."

"No, the real reason. I don't know you too well, but I know you want something. I said I owed you in that hospital bed, and I do, but then you cash that debt in the first chance you get. You want something out of this." Confidence began to ebb back into his voice now. "So tell me, Krystal. What do you get out of tagging along with me?"

Krystal glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, and leaned in a bit. "Dude, I need to get off this damn rock." She smiled good-naturedly. "Nothing happens around here. I only have like three or four test flights a week, and I spend the rest of my time doing nearly nothing. It's decent pay, sure, but your one-fifth profit's probably gonna give me way more. Besides," she said, spreading her arms, "Steven's rich. He'll find some other underpaid test pilot to fill my spot. God knows they could use some more action themselves."

Nate nodded, grinning himself. "That's more like it. Come on, then. Let's go get off this damn rock." They both headed towards the entrance ramp to Nate's ship.

"Very well," Krystal said as she fell into step beside him. "Oh, and by the way, never point a gun at me again. I let it slide for you this time, but do it again and it'll probably be the last thing you ever do." She chuckled a bit to herself. Nate forced a little laugh out.

Nate noted that his arm had been tingling for the past few minutes and puzzled over that fact; usually, it faded after a short while. This time, though, the artificial nerves sparked up and down the appendage nonstop. It didn't feel… unpleasant, he thought, but different than it usually did, for sure. His gaze drifted absently to Krystal as she walked through the door to the cargo bay.

 _Shut up_ , he thought to himself again.

"Go get some of the crew to bring your stuff up," Nate called down the corridor. "You can stay in the room next to mine." He punched in the code to open the cockpit door. So familiar, yet so different now. The electronic lock clicked and whirred before the door swung open silently.

To Nate's surprise, someone was sitting at the helm, poring over the ship's database. "Steven?"

"Hey, Wolfie. How ya doin'?" The engineer didn't turn around in his seat. "I'm just setting some stuff up in the mainframe now."

"Uhh, alright, cool," Nate said. "What exactly are you uploading into my ship without my knowledge or express permission?"

"All good things, all good things," Steven said offhandedly. "Security measures, some stuff to help the ship run a bit smoother. Oh, Astra, too. Uploaded her into the ship, so you can have her run diagnostics or do stuff in the background. Say hello, Astra!"

"Hello, Mr. Summers. Hello, Commander Nathan." Astra's voice resonated through the cockpit, no clear origin to her voice.

"Not gonna lie, that's pretty neat," Nate admitted. "Though, from here on in, please don't mess with my ship without letting me know first, okay Stevie?"

"Yeah, no worries," Steven affirmed. He stood up from the pilot's chair slowly, like even that took some effort. "Now, then. I'm currently running solely on coffee but that's gonna run out any minute now. Where'm I gonna sleep, Wolfie? Given that your spare bedroom is already occupied. Don't act so surprised," he added, as he saw Nate about to object. "I've got eyes and ears everywhere. I listened in on your little chat out there, and I've made up my mind. I'm going with you."

"You'll need some good reason if you're gonna tag along too-" Nate began, but Steven let him get no further.

"You're unstable. Your head's still all scrambled and you'll need support to help get back on your feet again, so to speak. Don't say Krystal's already got that covered," he interjected when he saw Nate open his mouth again. "She sounded like she cared a whole lot, but you're being too trusting. Never take anything you see or hear at face value. I ran a background check on her a little while back, and you know what I found?"

"What would that be?" Nate asked. "Something scandalous, I'm sure."

"She doesn't exist."

Nate blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I combed every public database from here to Sol and back. There is no record of a Krystal Anderson matching her description, anywhere."

"That's… you're certain? Nothing at all?" Steven shook his head.

"Nothing. A standard ID, which is all I needed to hire her by, but no public residential record from any of the nearby systems, no previous employment, blank resume. Her ID pops up whenever she uses it to buy something, but sometimes whole months go by with no sign of her. She'd buy something in Altair, vanish, and pop up in Leesti three months later."

"Does that not set off a bunch of red flags when you're hiring her into a high-end experimental tech facility as someone with direct access to said tech?" Nate asked.

"Yeah, y'know, I probably should have thought about that before I gave her the job, but give me a break, I'm still a little wet behind the ears with all this." He winked and flashed his winning smile. "All I'm saying is, don't ever trust anyone for what they say they are."

"Hello, gents! What're we talking about in here?" It was Krystal.

"You're fired," Steven deadpanned at her.

"I quit," she shot back.

"I'm going with Lefty, here," he replied, pointing at Nate. The pilot's jaw clenched but a quick glare from Krystal silenced him.

"Unsurprising. You're amazingly stubborn. You missed the cut, though, only two bedrooms on this tin can. Better luck next time, pal," she grinned. "Oh, and Astra just reminded me. You suck. Like, majorly." He chose to ignore her.

"You sleep on one of the cots in the medbay until I can get another room installed, dude," Nate decided. "It comes out of your first paycheck."

"Ah, forget about paying me. I have enough money to buy this ship fifty times over and still have change for a beer," he quipped. "I'm here for you, buddy." He was overcome by a sizable yawn. "Now then!" he said, clapping his hands together. "That cot in the medley sounds like the most comfortable thing in the universe right about now. Lady and gent," he nodded to each in turn, "I'll leave you to your affairs. Night!" And with that, he strolled out, stumbling ever so slightly.

"He hasn't changed a bit," Nate noted as he crossed to the helm. Scraps of paper filled with notes and code littered the floor around it, and he grumbled a bit as he bent to pick them up. "Messy as ever. It's like he never graduated." A half-empty bottle of brandy joined the pile of trash.

"Ooh, pass that here," Krystal said, snatching the bottle out of his hand. She took a deep swig of the amber liquid, sighing deeply when she came up for air. "You Lavians know how to make this stuff the right way," she commented.

Nate quirked an eyebrow. "You've had some before?"

"I've had loads of drinks in my time, Wolfie." She tapped his nose with the end of the bottle before corking it and walking over to the co-pilot's chair. "Never a bad day when you finish it with some booze."

"If you say so," Nate relented, sitting down himself.

"What's the plan, boss?" Krystal asked.

"Hmm?"

"The plan. We're about to fly this rocket-powered pile of metal off-world, and you're the captain, so I'd hope you'd have a plan beyond 'I'm leaving.'"

"Well, I was just going to head back to Lave and take a few hauling jobs…" Nate started.

"Nice try," Krystal fired back. "Wraith's'll be on our ass as soon as we leave this rock behind. We're gonna need this ship wiped otherwise we won't go two weeks without getting blown to smithereens."

"That's… that's a good point," Nate agreed. He purposefully hadn't been giving the Black Wraiths much thought since he'd woken up in that medbay bed three weeks prior. "You have something in mind, I'm guessing? Changing a ship's ID is pricey nowadays."

"Yeah, I know a guy," she said offhandedly. "Holes up in Solo Orbiter. He owes me a favour or two, should be able to cash in and get this hunk of junk a new ID under the radar no problem."

"Alright, sounds like a plan... Hang on, Solo Orbiter, you said? In Altair" She nodded. "Every trader knows about that place. One of the shadiest stations in the Bubble."

"Only the bad parts of it. We should be fine." She waved a hand placatively, the other one once more occupied with the bottle of brandy. "Astra, remind me to pick up a bottle or three next time we find a market."

"Reminder set," Astra chirped.

Nate reached over and grabbed the drink from where she set it on the floor. "No getting drunk on the job," he said, taking a sip. Tastes like home, he thought, not noticing he'd picked it up with his right hand.

He corked it and placed it in a holder next to his chair. "So, then," Nate started, rubbing his hands together. "Solo Orbiter to get the ship wiped so we aren't hunted down for the rest of our lives. Fun times," he said wryly. He tapped a few keys on the pad to his left and paged the intercom into the medbay. "Steven, come in."

Steven's voice crackled in. "I'm here, flyboy. What's going on?"

"Strap in to something, we're launching in a second. Krystal knows a place where we can get our ship wiped for cheap." Nate plotted the course as he spoke.

"Alright, sounds good. Where we going?"

"Solo Orbiter. Altair." There was silence on the other end for a second. "Steven, come in."

"Nate, are you off your rocker?!" came the reply. "I mean, I know you're still a little scrambled up there, but Solo? That place is bursting at the seams with criminals and drug rings and who knows what else? It'd be much better if I just paid for you to get the ID reset at much safer, more legal place."

"The more watched a place is, the more likely it is that we'll be seen before we get to change the ID, and if we're tracked from the second we show up anywhere then there's no point," Krystal jumped in. "Solo is our best shot of getting in and out without being found. The Feds control the system right now, so there's some shady business here and there but the Wraiths shouldn't have too good a hold on it."

Another pause from Steven. "I hope you're right, for all our sakes. I'm all strapped in, Nate. Good to go whenever."

"Roger that." He closed the comms link. "Astra, is the route plotted yet?"

"Affirmative," said Astra in her monotonous voice. "Eight hyperspace jumps to destination. Refueling not necessary along route."

"Great. Should be there in a couple hours." Nate sent a comms request to the Weyland's flight control. "Flight Control, this is DeLacy November-Victor-India, requesting permission to depart Bay 6," he said, reading out the ship's manufacturer and call sign.

"Roger that, Commander. Ground crew is clear, opening surface doors," was the response. The metal hangar doors slid open above them, and the ship jolted slightly as the magnetic docking clamps released the ship's landing gear. "Docking clamps released. DeLacy November-Victor-India, you are go for departure. Fly safe, Commander."

The ship shuddered as Nate guided the ship smoothly out of the hangar, first moving straight upwards and then forwards once clear of the ground. He pulled back on the flight stick gently, slowly angling the ship directly upwards and away from the dusty planet below, speeding up all the while. Soon the little Cobra was miles above the surface, and Nate gave the next order.

"Astra, charge the Frame Shift Drive for jump to the next system."

"Frame Shift Drive charging. Jumping in fifteen seconds." A hum ran through the ship as the warp drive began spooling up, crescendoing as the countdown began.

Four...

Three...

Two...

One...

Engage.

"Hey, Nate," said Steven over the intercom. "We almost there?"

Nate sighed, exasperated. "That is the fourth time you have asked me since we left. There's still three jumps left before we make it to Altair."

"And how long is that going to take?"

"Astra, how long?" Nate called out.

"Approximately 80 minutes to final destination: Altair system," she responded.

"You heard her. Sit tight. Read up on the news or something," Nate said dismissively. "You were always the busy one when I first met you. Always doing something. What's happened?"

"There's nothing to do," Steven whined. "This medbay is just about the most boring room you could've given me. I've rearranged all the medical supplies twice, by alphabetical and size order. This cot can only go in so many places. I've already skimmed through the news headlines, it's all the same old same old. Oh, we need more gauze rolls, by the way. Running a bit low."

Nate groaned. "I thought you were tired. Weren't you gonna take a nap or something?"

"I woke up two hours ago, Nate. We've been flying almost six hours now." On the other end of the intercom, Nate heard a yawn float through.

"There, see? Still tired. Go back to sleep," Nate said.

"I'm bored, not tired."

"You're a child, is what you are," Krystal cut in. She'd been listening in on the whole conversation, absentmindedly spinning a knife in midair in front of her. In the zero gravity of space, her hair floated around lazily, nothing stopping it from doing so. "You're a mechanic, aren't you? Certainly there's something on this scrap heap you can patch up?"

"Ah, yes, m'lady," Steven drawled. "Let me just shut off the ship's life support and check to make sure none of the backup circuits are loose. How long can you hold your breath for? Messing with a ship while we're using the ship is kind of a bad idea, you know!"

"Guys, cool it, it's fine," Nate said. "Stevie, go poke around the cargo bay and find some scrap metal to tinker with, or something. Still got twenty minutes before the hyperdrive's cooled down enough to jump some more. I'll give you a heads up." He closed the comms, shaking his head, and looked sidelong at Krystal, still staring blankly at the knife she was spinning.

"Where'd you get them, anyways?" Nate prompted. Krystal didn't respond for a moment, before snapping out of her trance and grabbing her knife. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

"Hmm? These old things?" Krystal replied. She sheathed the weapon back in her belt with the other two. "Eh, picked 'em up somewhere for cheap a few years ago. They've come in handy for quite a bit of stuff. Better than a gun, at any rate."

"Is that so?" Nate asked. "Why do you say that?"

"How about a practical demonstration?" Krystal stood and grabbed her helmet from where it was clipped to the side of her seat, She tucked her hair in it before putting it on and twisted it into place, the clicking resounding through the otherwise quiet cockpit. Suddenly, she vanished.

"Woah!" Nate said, surprised by her sudden disappearance. He'd forgotten their suits could cloak. He scanned the cockpit for movement and saw nothing. Suddenly, he felt a line of cold metal against his throat, but before he could even gasp there was an invisible hand over his mouth. Nate looked downwards and from nothingness appeared Krystal's hand on his face and her knife under his chin.

"Good for stealth," she said quietly. "No loud gunshots, no limited ammo, easily concealed in a boot or a sleeve. Guns are crude. Knives are more... specialist tools." A very unsettling sweetness had crept into her voice, like honey laced with poison. She removed her hands from his face and strolled back to her seat leisurely, laughing a bit.

"Okay, please never do that again. Way too creepy," Nate said.

"You're not bored anymore, are you? I know I'm not." Krystal chuckled.

Nathan blinked, still flustered. "And that was the best way you could find to entertain yourself?"

"Hey, I like to have my fun too," she said, "given that I can no longer drink the hours away." She flourished her knife, making elaborate stabbing and slicing motions in the air.

"You and I both need to be sober for when we get there," he pointed out. "Can't have my guide stumbling over herself, and it's my ship so I'll have to do some talking."

"You're a fun one," she grumbled.

"We can all have a drink once we're not marked for death by the one of the most dangerous terrorist groups in this part of the galaxy," Nate deadpanned.

"I'll hold you to that, you know."

"If Steven doesn't guzzle down our last two bottles while we're out, sure. He's most dangerous when he's bored."

"Destination reached: Altair system. Population: thirteen million, eight hundred twenty-eight thousand, forty five. Economic boom reported in recent days," Astra announced.

"Finally," called Steven from the medbay. "How long until we get to the station?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes or so? You can move around until we get there but you should probably strap in when we dock," Nathan radioed back. He glanced over at Krystal, now scrolling through maps of the station. "Your buddy's in the hab ring, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah, he usually stays in the same block. I'll get into contact with him soon as we dock. You have a plan for getting into the station quietly?"

"Hmm…" Nate considered his options. Docking normally would require use of the ship's ID, which he was directly avoiding the public use of to they couldn't be traced. But he needed to request docking permissions if he wanted to be let in, otherwise the flight control would evict the ship by force and fine him.

"I could try the Anonymous Access protocol," he said slowly.

"The what now?" Krystal asked. "I'm not too well versed in pilot speak."

"Basically, you request a temporary ID and dock using that," Nate explained. "You can't access any of the station facilities besides the bare necessities - refueling, hull repair, stuff like that. No commodity market for supplies, no mission contracts, no bounty voucher contacts."

"So we go in with that, get the new ID from my guy, and get out, no questions asked?" Krystal rose an eyebrow. "Seems a bit too easy, if you ask me."

"It's not like just anyone can do this, really," Nate said patiently. "Only independent pilots like myself can - no company restrictions that wouldn't let me use it. They'd also probably be keeping a close eye on us and check in a few times, so I'll have Steven stay behind and hold down the fort."

"You'll have me what?!" said Steven from the doorway. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. I am not hanging around this ship any longer than I have to. I'm already going stir crazy in here!"

"You can tinker around with the ship while we're gone. If anyone shows up tell them your boss is doing some business while the ship refuels."

Steven blinked. "Okay, I'll get to work as soon as we touch down." He started back down the corridor.

"Have it ready to launch as soon as we get back!" Nate called. "I don't wanna hang around here any longer than we have to!"

"Aye aye, captain!" came the reply.

"He sure loves his gadgets, doesn't he?" Krystal sighed as she watched the engineer leave.

"You sure love your knives and brandy, don't you?" Nate shot back.

"My intense passion for the finer things in life is one of my most redeeming qualities," she said with faux grandeur.

"Mmm, fine indeed. Such extravagant things, stabbing people and getting blackout drunk," he joked.

"Exactly! You get where I'm coming from!"

Nate shook his head in mock disappointment. "What was I thinking when I hired you?"

"Beats me, that was your mistake," Krystal said, opening Nate's of brandy and letting a few spheres of it float out of the opening. Somehow she'd snuck it back from Nate while he was checking station details. "You Lavians make a good drink, that's for damn sure." She caught the blobs with her mouth as they floated in front of her.

"If you develop a drinking problem, I'm firing you," Nate said bluntly.

"And I'll drown my sorrows of such a crushing loss in more of that amber heaven and die happy," she retorted.

"I'm charging you for all my alcohol that you drink, too. Coming out of your paycheck and I'll hold you to it even if you quit." Now it was Nate's turn to grin at her startled expression. She delicately placed the bottle back in a holder on the side of her chair..

"You know, I think I've had enough for a little while. That stuff doesn't come cheap, now that you mention it."

"That's better," Nate said. "Now, put that away somewhere safer. We'll be dropping into the station in a second, and I don't want glass shards flying around in here. Already had to clean blood off the floor of this ship once."


	7. Chapter 7 - Scrapyards and Skullduggery

_Thud._ Nate swung at the cargo container as hard as he could. _Thud._ More hollow this time. The sound reverberated up and down the metal cylinder as he put more force into his swings. _Clang._ Something rattled around inside the container when he punched it a third time. Nate took a step back and threw his entire weight into a fourth blow.

He winced as the awful sound of metal scraping against metal assaulted his ears. Cringing and gritting his teeth, he tried to pull his arm away only to find that he couldn't. His hand had punched straight through the wall of the cargo container. _He_ had punched straight through the wall of the cargo container.

Nate was angry. Unreasonably angry.

Nate braced a foot against the wall of the container and pulled, the abused steel creaking and groaning before finally giving way. Upon further investigation, the shiny metallic plating on his arm and hand were still none the worse for wear. The whole of it twitched uncontrollably, like its circuits were malfunctioning. Nate knew that wasn't why.

Clearly, he could do quite a bit of damage with it. Nate stepped back and wound up for another swing at a separate panel of the container when someone called out behind him.

"You already broke it. I'm fairly certain it's not going to fight back," Krystal said from the side door. Nate didn't turn around.

"Needed to blow off some steam. Wanted to see how much I could do with this thing," he explained, gesturing to the hole he'd just created. He was suddenly aware of his breathing - far heavier than normal.

"And in doing so wasted a perfectly good cargo container, which we could have used for any number of things besides your punching bag," she pointed out.

"So what if I did?" he blurted out, turning on his heel to face her. He stopped dead - Krystal was _different_. The shoulder-length blonde hair was gone, now dark brown and barely reaching her neck. It was choppy and inconsistent, like it had been cut one section at a time by something definitely not designed to cut hair; the ends were frayed and broken. In the weak gravity of the station's docking bay it still managed to float around her face a bit. She wore a simple all-purpose flight suit, near identical to Nate's.

The hair wasn't the only change. Krystal's sky blue eyes that Nate had grown so used to were brown now, with flecks of green thrown in here and there. What's more, she was notably… shorter? Yes, she was definitely lacking, height-wise. When they had first met she'd stood at Nate's height but now she had to be at least a few inches shorter.

"What?" she asked, and Nate realized he was staring. He blinked a few times, flustered.

"You're, uhh… different," Nate said,

"Thanks for noticing. That was the point," she said briskly.

"The hair and the eyes, I can get how you did it. You're, umm, a lot shorter now, though?" Nate was still puzzling over that.

Krystal tapped her foot in response. "Insoles in my boots," she answered. "Gives me an extra few inches. I like feeling a little taller." She smiled at that last bit. Nate's heart did a little backflip in his chest that he was fairly certain wasn't from the anger spikes he'd been having.

"Okay, so you've changed your look right before we go to some shady dealing in a shadier station," Nate pointed out. "I'm guessing it's not to make a fashion statement?"

"Very perceptive, captain," Krystal said. "Let's just say these guys know me and I would much rather they not recognize me."

"And you didn't think to mention that to me?" Nate asked, not trying to hide his annoyance.

"You might've been a bit more against this whole thing. Besides, I know how to change myself enough that people don't recognize me."

She started towards the exit ramp controls on a nearby wall, jumping as she walked over. In the low gravity she managed a front-flip before landing cleanly on her feet. She hit a few buttons on the panel and the cargo bay doors swung open. The egress staircase extended from the front landing strut until it thunked against the landing pad.

"I like low-G stations," she mused as they made for the staircase. "Lots of fun to play around in." As they walked, Nate pulled out a leather glove and slipped it onto his prosthetic.

Instead of walking down the steps behind Nate, Krystal leapt from the top and floated down slowly towards the landing pad. Nate himself decided to skip the last dozen steps, staggering when he landed.

"You alright there?" she said, steadying him as he regained his balance.

"Arm's a lot heavier," he grunted. "Centre of balance is off. I'll get used to it."

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Come on, Lefty, we're hitting the Gray Sector to meet my _friends_ ," she stressed the word, "and then grabbing some food with Steven. No way am I eating another reconstituted hot dog if I can help it."

"If you say so," Nate relented. They both walked towards a transport elevator at the edge of the pad. Over their heads a massive ship lumbered in towards its landing pad, the thrum of its thrusters resonating through them.

"Damn, that's a big one, isn't it?" Krystal whistled.

"Type-9 Heavy. Behemoths, they are." They reached the elevator to the hab ring and Nate tapped some directions into the console, setting the destination to the station's Gray Sector. "Can transport entire warehouses' worth of cargo at once. Only the biggest trading companies use them. Handles like a cow, though. Wouldn't recommend it as a pleasure craft," he joked. Krystal didn't smile.

"Why would the Wraiths have one, then?" She watched the ship touch down on its landing pad.

"Those things can hold a lot of just about anything," Nate said as the elevator jerked into motion. "Best guess? Troop transport. You can have dozens of platoons of men in a T-9. Why do you ask?"

"Was one of the wrecked ships outside the base after the attacks. Must've gotten shot down before it could get away. And, uhh…" she took her earpiece out and indicated for him to do the same. When he did, Krystal continued: "I _might've_ snuck onto that wrecked T-9 and downloaded the ship's files before wiping the database."

"You _what_?!" Nate's eyes bugged out.

She didn't meet his eyes and lifted a hand to scratch her neck. "Had some spare time, snuck out with the cloaking suit during repairs, downloaded everything on the computer and then had Astra wipe everything."

Nate pressed his fingers to his temples. His right hand hung at his side and spasmed more noticeably. "You better have a damn good reason why you did that," Nate warned. Krystal glanced at a holo-panel on the wall of the elevator. Halfway down.

"Listen," she started. "Something's up with Steven, and I have a solid feeling he's hiding something. Hear me out, okay?"

Nate forced his temper down his throat. "Fine," he relented, crossing his arms across his chest. Krystal pulled a data chip out of her pocket.

"This chip has everything from that Wraith transport's computer, but nearly all of it's encrypted and I can't get at it. I have a few contacts near where we're going that could decrypt what's on this-"

"And give us the entire contents of a Wraith computer," Nate finished. "But why not get Steven to do it? He has more than enough resources. Wouldn't that be, y'know, _safer_?"

"I worked at the Weyland for something like a year and a half, and in that time I heard some stuff, Nate." She looked him square in the eyes. "Behind-the-back whispers told by nobody, said to nobody. Higher-ups in the compound chatting with lowered voices in quiet places, where they think nobody else could hear. Questionable business deals. Sales to less than reputable markets, some of which even Steven's top guys don't know." She took a breath. "Nobody as rich as he is can be honest."

Nate shook his head. "Krystal, you don't know Steven like I do. He'd never do anything like what you're saying." Her last comment began to weigh on him - as did the station itself. The habitation ring was constantly spinning, the centrifugal force creating artificial gravity.

"You've never known him to be underhanded or unfair in order to keep an upper hand? Never told little white lies or rigged the system to his advantage?" She crossed her arms and tipped her head back ever so slightly.

"I..." he trailed off. In hindsight, he could recall a few times from the Academy days when Steven had bent or broken a few rules. He shook his head adamantly all the same. "He wouldn't." Before he could continue, the elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors slid open.

Greeting them was a city block that stretched in either direction as far as they could see, buildings laid out in a neat grid. In the distance the street curved upwards until the horizon bent up and over their heads. Craning his head back, Nate could see the opposite side of the ring behind the centre staging area where the ships all docked. Dingy brick and metal skyscrapers rose up to… not a sky, but a reinforced glass ceiling hundreds of feet above. A maglev transport whizzed by on a raised track, and people passed them at street level on foot. Holographic advertisements flashed in vivid colours, promoting all kinds of products ranging from alcohol to… well, most of it was really just alcohol.

 _Federation space for sure,_ Nate thought as they started down the street. _A Fed without beer is like a farm without water_.

"So where're we heading then?" Nate coughed as he caught a full whiff of stale station air. "I can feel my lifespan shortening just walking around here." Clearly the station's air filters hadn't been cleaned in some time, and the recycled air definitely didn't conform to Federation health and safety regulations.

Krystal seemed unaffected by the less-than-healthy atmosphere. "Old scrapyard they run. Got a bit of side business with that," she said. Nate glanced sidelong at her and noticed her eyes shifting around, scanning the crowd as they passed.

"Looking for someone?" he asked. She shook her head.

"Nobody in particular. Stop at this next corner." She leant against a dumpster fronting an alleyway and put her earpiece back in, watching the pedestrians behind them. Nate stood at the intersection, feigning interest at a hologram for a particularly strong brand of rum. He put his own earpiece in.

"Astra, you there?" he muttered.

"Affirmative, Captain Wolfe," the AI affirmed. "Since you last disabled your communications device you have missed seven calls from Mr. Summers."

"Well, that can't be good. Call him back," he ordered. He was patched through almost instantly.

"Nate, where the hell were you? I've been trying to reach you for, like, ten minutes now!" Nate flinched at Steven's yelling.

"Lay off, will you? I didn't realize I'd left comms off when I'd left," he lied. "What's the urgent matter?"

"You're being tailed," Steven said. Nate tensed up and snapped his head back around to look behind him.

"What?!" he hissed into his earpiece, now conscious of everyone around him. "Where? Who?"

"Not sure who yet but I checked the manifest of the other docked ships and you'll never guess who's here."

"Well unless it's the Prime Minister himself I don't think any answer would make me happy," Nate growled.

"There's a Fer-de-Lance here that matches the one that nearly killed you during your outing with that spy," Steven said. "I'm trying to keep an eye on it as best I can from here, but hurry up, will you? No more beating around the bush. And keep your comms in, both of you!" The call dropped. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Krystal watching him, eyebrows knit in concern.

"What was that about?" she asked, gesturing for him to follow her down the street.

"Steven reckons we're being tailed. The Ferdie that showed up and chased us out a few weeks ago's docked here." Now he couldn't stop looking around him, as if their alleged pursuer would suddenly appear from the crowd and walk right up to them.

"First rule if you're being followed, don't act like you're being followed," she said out of the corner of her mouth. Act like everything's normal, even if you know it's not. We're in the streets, they can't do anything to us here."

"Like hell they can't, I'm not taking any chances." He quickened his pace, eyeing the buildings around him for any sign of the mechanic she had mentioned. Krystal caught up with him and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him to face her.

"Hey. Listen to me." Nate tried to break away and forge onward but she wouldn't let him. "Nate, _listen._ "

He squeezed his jaw tightly but stopped resisting, if only physically.

"You're paranoid," she said, her eyes locked onto his. "You're over stressing, and you're making a much bigger deal out of this than you should be. And if you're stressing out, you are bound to make a mistake that could be avoided by keeping your head about you."

Nate opened his mouth and tried to protest but no words came out.

"Good," Krystal said, enough confidence in her voice for both of them. "Now, what's the plan?"

"The plan," Nate started. "Right. Uhh, we go in, I fork over however much cash they need, we get the new ID assigned, we haul ass back to the ship and get out ASAP. How's that?"

"Much better."

They continued down the street; the holograms were becoming less common, showcasing the rundown buildings characteristic of any Gray Sector.

"One tweak: I'll do most of the talking, because I know the place better. If they ask, I'm a very rich and important Imperial and you're serving as my escort and bodyguard. Your job is to sign the ID forms, speak softly, and carry a big hunk of metal with intent to swing." Krystal patted his right shoulder gently. "And most importantly, I'm in charge in there. Do everything I say, without question. Got it?"

Nate gave a small nod of affirmation. "Got it."

"Excellent. Now then," Krystal said, putting on a haughty Imperial accent, "Come along, Ambrose. Ms. Angela Starborne does not like to wait." She strode along at a steady clip, turning and entering a shabby industrial-style building. He followed close behind.

A blast of heat greeted him, and the smell of hot metal shortly thereafter. The indoor scrapyard was covered with piles upon piles of ship parts of every kind, the sea of junk interrupted here and there by massive cutting machines and smelteries. Jet black watchtowers stood guard over the mounds of garbage, blending the atmospheres of a landfill and a supermax prison.

Krystal paid no mind to these surroundings and opted instead to head straight for a door set into the back wall of a secluded corner, manned by a burly guard in a black suit. Upon seeing their approach he stepped in front of the door, blocking their path. "No entry," he grunted, stony-faced and inexpressive. "Employees only."

"We have some important business matters to discuss with your boss," Krystal said unfazed. She made to reach for the access panel and get by but the guard stopped her, pushing her away with little effort.

"Hey, watch it, pal," Nate intervened, stepping in front of Krystal protectively. "We've got business here, and she has enough money to buy you and your entire apartment complex four times over before she notices she's spent anything."

The guard's face twisted in a snarl as he walked up to Nate, his extra height serving as an effective intimidation tactic.

"Employees. Only," he said with finality, leering down at Nate.

Nate met his gaze with equal malice in his voice. "Are you going to step aside, or are we going to have a fun exchange with your employer on why you're holding up his most valuable customers? And how her escort had to concuss a doorman to get to the deal on time?"

"Boys, boys," Krystal interjected, clearly not wanting the situation to escalate further. "Let's not devolve into such _primal_ solutions to our problems, honestly. Ambrose, he's simply doing his job. And you," she looked pointedly at the still-scowling guard, "Need to learn to recognize an opportunity when it presents itself. As a lesson, I'll help you out. I make more money in a week than you earn in three months, so I'm sure we could work out a little deal with your boss on the side and get you a bit of a bonus, hmm?"

The guard's demeanor changed at the mention of money. Precious few seconds passed as he mulled it over, the gears in his head almost audibly turning. Making up his mind, he stepped aside and opened the door for the two of them.

"Right this way, sir and madam," he said through a forced smile. "So sorry for wasting your time. The boss is down the hall to your left. Keep going straight, first door you'll find."

"What a gentleman!" Krystal remarked, the Imperial accent's refined tones carrying the compliment so well it almost sounded genuine. "Come, Ambrose, business awaits!"

Nate followed her through the door, meeting the guards piercing stare with one of his own.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Krystal's posture reverted back to her usual slouch. "Nate, what the hell?" She wheeled around to face him.

"What?" Nate said defensively, putting his hands up in reflexive surrender.

"'Concuss a doorman to get to the deal on time?' You really need to work on your temper, dude! I said I'd be the one doing the talking, remember? You keep letting your anger issues get in the way of using the thing between your ears!" She tapped her temple for emphasis. "You're my bodyguard, not my emissary! I do the talking, remember?"

"Well, sorry for trying to play the part! I'm meant to protect you, aren't I? You saw how he shoved you away!" Nate snapped back at her.

"He was doing his _job_ , Nate. He gets paid to keep people out of that door. You can't convince people to do things by threatening to bash their skulls in, that's not how people work! You would've spoken enough volumes by just staring him down, which is all you're going to do once I start dealing, okay?"

Words failed Nate once more. Defeated, he hung his head and followed her down the dingy corridor. A short while of walking revealed no door, and the corridor turned and twisted with offshoots here and there, giving Nate a mental image of a labyrinthine system of halls and rooms. He'd already forgotten the way out. Concrete support pylons dotted the halls here and there with no clear pattern, the only break from the monotony of the corridors.

"Krystal, what the hell's wrong with me?" he said suddenly. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Hm? What do you mean?" she asked.

"Something's wrong with me. Can't say it outright, but something's been messing with me. Don't know what."

"Might I suggest the minor tidbit that you nearly died in the middle of a war zone," Krystal said delicately, "and came out of the whole ordeal with a shiny prosthetic that is still screwing around with your nervous system as it adjusts to you?"

Nate huffed and rolled his eyes."I know all that stuff," he said, more to himself than to her. "Why am I angry? Distracted? I haven't been able to think straight for days now, about anything. My dad, my arm, my job, what I want to do after I'm not being hunted down by the Wraiths... oh God, the Wraiths, what am I gonna do about all that?" The words tumbled out of his mouth, growing more and more panicked as Nate followed that train of thought out of the station.

"Hey, easy," Krystal said, slowing slightly to walk next to him. 'You've got more on your plate than just about anyone I've ever met, and I don't know you all that well so I can't say how you deal with things. I'll tell you what I think you should do about it all. Focus on what's in front of you, what's coming. There's no point in worrying about stuff that's far off when you've got enough to deal with in the now."

"But I have to _prepare_ for all that crap, don't I?" Nate reasoned. "I can't just wait around for it all to happen, I need to _do_ something about it?"

"And that's where your problem is," she said, not missing a beat. "You feel like you can control everything. That's not how the world works. It doesn't revolve around any person or group. There's nobody in control of everything that goes on."

"But all of this is my problem," he argued. "I shot at that Wraith ship, I made us targets, I..."

"You what?" Krystal stopped walking. They were outside a sturdy-looking metal door with a basic interface panel. It contrasted sharply with the drab concrete hallway extending in either direction. "You made your dad go missing? You blew off your arm with a grenade?"

The corridor was quiet, save for the blood Nate could hear roaring in his ears. "I... I could've..."

"No, you couldn't have done something about any of it. Stop deluding yourself like that. One, you're living in the past when you're doing that, and two, you're trying to be in control of everything. Let it go. What's done is done. Stop blaming yourself for it."

Nate blinked hard before realizing he was shaking - not just his prosthetic, but all over, every molecule buzzing, muscles taut as a bowstring.

"Breathe," Krystal said, her voice unwavering. "Nothing you can do to stop it. It's already done. Work on coping. Be in the now."

Nate sucked in a breath and let it go, doing his best to control himself.

"Better?"

"Better," he nodded. Just then, static crackled in Nate's earpiece, and from Krystal's reaction she heard it as well. Steven's voice forced its way through the white noise.

"-ate? Nate? Come in, damnit, come in!"

"Steven, what's up? You're barely coming through, what's up with the connection?" Nate asked.

"Not m- fault!" Steven said, clearly irate. "You're way -erground or so-ing."

"Concrete building, we're right in the guts of it," Krystal said. "Listen as best you can. Pinpoint where exactly we are in the hab ring, take the ship, and fly outside where we are. If things go south you'll need to blast us out of here."

"Say that -ain?" Steven said. "You w- me to bl- a hole in the ha- -ing?"

"Might not need it, but we need a fallback in case things go sour. You have those explosive guns still in there, so make use of 'em," she ordered.

"Wo-d you like a list of -y that's a ter-ble -dea?"

"Connection's dropping, be ready ASAP, bye!" Krystal dropped the call. Nate did the same.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but would a blast strong enough to blow hole in the hab ring not kill us in the process? Not to mention the cops would turn Steven into space dust before we could get to him?" Nate asked.

"Concrete walls should be good enough protection, we have Remlok masks for air, and we'll have to hope we can outrun the cops before they can realize what's going on."

"There are so many ways this can go wrong," Nate fretted.

"Then let's hope we don't have to resort to Plan B." She set her posture straight before continuing. "Now, then, Ambrose," Krystal said in her lofty Imperial voice, "let's attend to our business as quickly as we can." She rapped her knuckles against the door thrice in quick succession.

"Enter," said a voice from inside. Krystal tapped the door panel and it slid downwards into the floor. The room behind it surprised Nate notably.

Matching the door, the walls and ceiling were a shiny metal, anodized to a deep mahogany colour and polished to a sheen. Various paintings dotted the room, each depicting some noteworthy planet or person. The floor, though, was the focal point of the room: clear glass from corner to corner, giving an unadulterated view of the blackness of space below them. Stars speckled the darkness, and Nate nearly stumbled as he stepped across the threshold for fear of falling into nothingness.

Krystal, confident as ever, strode straight through, stopping square in the center of the room. Nate followed, standing behind her and off to the side a bit. In front of the two of them was a desk, ornate as the rest of the room, and behind the desk was a stocky man in an impeccable black suit, scrolling through a news article on a holo-projector.

"Well, howdy there," the man said, closing the projector. He had a heavy Federal accent, apparent from the greeting alone. "How might I help you two this fine evenin'?"

"Good evening to you as well," Krystal replied. "I was referred here by an associate of mine, who said that we might be able to acquire certain ship parts from here?"

"Well, 'course you can!" he replied happily. "We sell all manner of supply here: thrusters, power distributors, sensors, plating, you name it! What all would you be looking for tonight?"

"Well," Krystal began gently, "If I were to be looking for more… difficult to acquire equipment, such that the public market is in rather short supply, I don't suppose you'd have any in stock?"

"Ah, you've come to the right place for them as well!" the man said jovially. "Anything you had in mind?"

"We've run into a few rocky negotiation spots," Krystal said, "And our ship has been attracting unwanted attention for some time now. Would you perchance have any alternate IDs that we could purchase? Cash, of course, everything up front."

"Now you're talkin' my language!" He pulled up a list on his holo-screen. "Ship make and model?" Krystal looked to Nate, unsure.

"Faulcon DeLacy Cobra MkIII, 3294 model," Nate said. A few swipes later and the man in the suit had the ID key, which he began uploading onto a thumb drive. As he did so, he looked up at the pair with raised eyebrows.

"An odd pairing, you two, ain'tcha? High class Imperial lady standing with an Ally. Lavian, by the sounds of it? Some damn good brandy they make down there."

"I'd have to agree," Krystal said dismissively. "Now, your payment?" She reached into a pocket of her flight suit (functional if nothing else) and pulled out a wad of bills. "How much is this going to cost us?"

"Well, all things considered, like the fact that this is a first-rate ship key, and that this whole deal's off the books, let's say about… seventy thousand credits."

Nate's eyes bugged; no way could he afford that! His current ship was still on loan and he needed to carry the payments through for at least another year.

Krystal was cool as ever. "Fifty thousand, not a credit more."

"Sixty thousand," the dealer shot back.

"You drive a hard bargain, I must say," Krystal grinned as she stuck out a hand, which he shook earnestly. "Oh, and one other thing. I've happened upon some files from a… business rival of mine, completely by chance, or course, and I was wondering if you could provide some form of decryption service? Some extra compensation would be in order, of course."

"Ah, m'lady, I regret to say that that would be a service I am not able to provide. Don't have the facilities for it, see. After all," here his face twisted in a toothy smile, "I only run a scrapyard, see?"

"Ah, of course, of course. No matter, it's nothing urgent, so it can wait a little while." Krystal finished counting out the bills and handed them to the suited man, who took them eagerly.

As he counted through them, Nate caught glimpse of the Cobra through the glass floor. He couldn't see Steven through the polarized cockpit, but he knew the engineer had to be flying by the jittery from the way the ship moved as it followed the hab ring's lazy spin.

"Nate, Krystal, in position," Steven's voice came through clearly this time. "Won't be long before the station authorities start looking at me funny, hurry it up!"

"Roger that, negotiations wrapping up now," Nate muttered into his earpiece.

"Hmm? What was that?" The man in the suit had heard Nate talking under his breath and followed his gaze.

"Ah, wonderful flooring, isn't it? Had it designed n' reinforced special for my office. Always love watchin' them stars go by out there. Nothing sets a man more at peace, I'll tell ya what." He eyed the view more carefully, coming out from behind his desk to get a better view. As he did so, Nate caught him reach into his jacket and pull out the flash drive he'd been preparing earlier. He handed it to Krystal, who tucked it away safely in a pocket.

"Say, that Cobra's lookin' at us awful funny, isn't it?" Suspicion crept into the man's voice and his hand reached inside his vest for something else.

"Sir, I can understand why you'd be suspicious, but we honestly have no idea what this ship is doing so close in to us. It's not even our Cobra; ours is still docked. I'm sure there's absolutely nothing to worry about whatsoever," Krystal said dismissively.

The man in the suit narrowed his eyes. "Somethin' about you rings a bell. What did you say your name was, again, missy?"

"I, ahm, never told you my name. My employer would much prefer I not say," she said, voice quavering slightly as nerves briefly broke her carefully maintained accent.

"I suppose I can respect that," the man relented before gesturing to Nate. "What about you, then? Why're you with her?"

"He's my-" Krystal began, but she was cut off just as quickly.

"Was I talkin' to you? I don't think I was, now, was I?" The dealer's voice rose dangerously. "Let the man speak for himself, you hear?" He looked at Nate expectantly

"Who am I?" Nate repeated. Clearly, he couldn't give his name. So who was he then, besides a name? "I'm, well..."

"Spit it out, then! Don't have all day!"

Nate sighed deeply. "I'm just a nobody, sir. Never done much with myself. Not too important for much."

"Not too important? I'd beg to differ, with that arm of yours." Nate heard Krystal's breathing hitch and felt himself do the same.

"What? How... how'd you know?" Unconsciously, he clasped his right hand in his left.

"I ain't as dumb as I look or sound, you know that?" The man in the suit chuckled to himself, a rumbling laugh that unsettled Nate to no end. "It's been twitchin' this whole time, don't know if you could tell. And wearin' a glove on one hand and not the other? Dead giveaway. I've seen quite a few amputees in my line o' work and you're definitely one of 'em. So tell me again, boy. Who are you?"

Nate blinked a few times, and when he opened his eyes the room was tinted red again. "I'm pretty damn pissed off, for one." He pushed past Krystal and shoved the man back behind his desk. "So now that we've paid you your absurd price, let us be on our way before we blast our way out of here ourselves!"

"Aha!" Before either of them could react, the dealer pulled up a menu on his holoscreen and opened a voice channel. "Backup down here, stat. Got a couple of rats here that were gonna double-cross us." Nate went to grab him but stopped short when he saw what was in his hand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the dealer said, pointing the gun at Krystal. Nate saw her hand drift to her hip, but there weren't any knives there. She'd left her belt back on the ship, it seemed. "You two are gonna stay nice and still, now, you hear? Back up, you." He gestured briefly to Nate, who stood rooted to the spot. "Back up _now_ before I pop a cap in her face!"

"Nate, use your head on this one, please. Just think about this," Krystal said, dropping her accent completely.

Nate put a foot back and stopped. 'Use your head on this,' she had said. Not 'do what he says,' but 'use your head.' Nate scanned his surroundings as quickly as he could. No weapons, no way to defend. That left offense. But he couldn't do anything without getting shot…

Unless... A plan formed in Nate's head and he played it out over and over again, trying to find faults in the dealer's form. He set his weight on his right foot slowly, and then, with as much speed as he could muster, dove.

Two shots rang out, and then all was quiet.


End file.
